


Blood And Frost Bite

by thegreennoodle



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Arson, Asthma, Blood, Captivity, Consent Issues, Control Issues, Corporal Punishment, Dark, Death, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, F/M, Glasses, Hearing aids, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Knives, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stockholm Syndrome, Suspense, Theft, bucky has serious issues, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 59,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreennoodle/pseuds/thegreennoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve took a few deep breaths. He wasn't sure he could handle another minute with this monster. “And what about me? I'm an easy target, aren't I? Why aren't you killing me right now?”</p><p>The man frowned. He seemed confused as well. “I don't want to.”</p><p>“Why did you bring me here if you won't kill me?”</p><p>Another damn shrug. “Felt like it.”</p><p>“Oh, god,” Steve groaned. He had been taken to god-knew-where on the complete whim of a murderer. And he thought his life sucked before.</p><p>---</p><p>Steve's life was normal enough. He had an average job and a crappy apartment. Boring, but he knew it could be worse. Unfortunately, it does become much worse for him when he encounters one of the most infamous serial killers in U.S. history and is swept up into his world. Steve must now do his best to survive and maintain his sanity, all the while trying to figure out what his captor really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everybody! Thanks for checking this out. If you think I ever need to add anything to the tags, let me know.

It had been a regular day for Steve.

He had woken up early in his tiny apartment to get ready for work. The small man didn't have the most fabulous job; he was currently working at an office while trying to save as much money as he could. Steve had always had dreams of becoming a great artist one day, but that hadn't worked out for him so far. The most he could do was sometimes draw portraits of some wealthy old ladies.

Steve had a usual routine: wake up, shower, put on glasses, put hearing aid in left ear, get dressed, eat a small breakfast, leave. His shower didn't always have hot water and his kitchen sometimes had roaches, but he knew it could worse. He always made sure that his door was locked and he had his keys and wallet and inhaler. He would pause to pet the cat that lived a few doors down from him before heading to the bus stop. He would arrive a bit early for work, punch in, get to his cubicle and prepare for another long, boring day.

The small group of people he worked with weren't exactly unfriendly, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. Steve didn't mind that too much. Throughout his life, people didn't seem to want to interact with him. Probably didn't even notice him. But it still would be nice to have a friendly chat every so often. He would even settle for pointless water cooler talk.

Everything had gone as normal until it was almost closing time. The only people left were Steve, his coworker, Bruce, and the janitor, Phil. Steve didn't know much about either of them. Bruce was usually polite, but quiet and focused on his work. But Phil was always up to talk, especially when Steve was working overtime. The older man was divorced and had two kids. He showed Steve every time he got a new picture of them.

“You two almost finished?” Phil asked. “I was going to mop tonight.” He waved the mop for emphasis.

“Yeah, almost,” Bruce replied. He stood and picked up a stack of paper. “I just need to staple these and file them.” He left to go to the filing room in the back.

Steve began to shut down his computer. “So, Phil, how are the kids?”

The older man beamed. “They're doing great. Maria is dating a decent guy for once and Peter is graduating high school.” 

Steve smiled. “That's good to hear.”

“And how about you, Steve? Anyone new in your life? A lady, perhaps?” 

Steve grimaced and looked down. “'Fraid not. Girls aren't really interested in guys like me.”

Phil patted his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. You just need to wait for the right person.”

“If you say so.”

They were both startled when they heard a loud thump coming from the back room. They waited in silence for a few moments. 

“Bruce?” Steve called out. “You okay?”

More silence.

“You wait here,” Phil ordered in a low voice. “I'll go check things out back there.”

Steve may have been a small guy, but he had one hell of a temper. He wasn't someone to sit back and do nothing. “Hey, I'm not letting you go back there by yourself. What if something's wrong?”

“That's exactly why you are staying here,” Phil said. His paternal instincts were obviously kicking in. “I'm sure he's fine. Just, please, wait here.”

Steve wasn't happy, but it would be easier if he just listened. It was probably nothing, anyway. “Fine.”

Phil pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and clutched it tightly in his hand. The man slowly walked back to the source of the noise. Steve watched as he disappeared into the room. He stayed quiet and waited for any sort of noise. 

It was eerily silent until he suddenly heard Phil shout. That was followed by a few bangs and the sound of a heavy weight fitting the floor. Okay, Steve was officially scared now. But he'd be damned if he just sat there and did nothing. Phil was in some sort of trouble and Steve wasn't going to just leave him there.

He armed himself with a paperweight and crouched down before creeping to the filing room. Perhaps his size would come in handy for once and would help hide him from whoever or whatever was back there. Or maybe there was nothing and Bruce and Phil were just playing a prank on him. Yeah, that was probably it. Playing a prank on poor old Steve...

Unfortunately, that was proved untrue when Steve came across a puddle of dark red liquid. His breath caught in his throat at the sight and his eyes slowly followed it up to the source. 

It was Bruce. The man was laying on his back with a stapler still in his hand. His throat had been slashed and there appeared to be a few stab wounds to his chest as well. His mouth was hanging open, as if he were still trying to scream for help. But his eyes were blank and his body was still. He was dead.

Steve's heart sank to his stomach. What the hell had happened to Bruce? The poor man had just gone to finish his work and now he was laying dead on the floor. This-this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen here. They were just a small office in Brooklyn, one of many. It wasn't like they had any money or anything in here.

Steve stifled a whimper and went to search for Phil. There was nothing he could do for Bruce now.

It didn't take long to find the janitor. He was in the same condition as Bruce. Even from the cabinet that Steve was hiding behind he could see that Phil's hands and face were a bloody mess. He gasped when he saw Phil's own box cutter sticking out of his chest. Whoever was back here must have gotten the better of him. Steve's eyes started to water. Phil did not fucking _deserve_ this. And neither did Bruce. He couldn't hold back a sob.

He later wondered if that small sound is what did him in. Mere seconds later, a gloved hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. It went from his shoulder to his mouth when Steve cried out. He blindly struck out with the paperweight, only to have it knocked out of his hand. His assailant's free hand seized his wrist and held it above his head. 

So now Steve was being restrained by the guy who probably killed his coworkers. Lucky him.

Steve was a smart guy and quickly realized that this was most likely the end of his short, sad life. He could at least go out with a brave face. He tilted his head up to look his killer in the eyes and tried to put all the anger and outrage he felt in his glare.

The man who held him didn't look like a conventional murderer, at least in Steve's opinion. It was a young man, probably around Steve's age. His brown hair was long and his jaw was covered in stubble. His face was actually kinda handsome, but his expression was blank and he had the coldest blue eyes that Steve had ever seen. There was a baseball cap on his head and he was wearing a well-worn leather jacket.

They locked gazes for what seemed a long time. Steve glaring and the man staring at him blankly. Steve had no idea what was going on in this guy's head. Whatever the deranged thought about, he supposed. 

The man's hand left his mouth and went to his neck and pressed-

Steve collapsed into the man's arms, unconscious as he was picked up and carried out of the office's back door. The same door that was usually locked, but Phil had been taking the garbage out earlier and forgot to re-lock it.

And that's how Steve Rogers first encountered James Buchanan Barnes, or as the papers called him, “The Winter Slasher.”

 

Steve woke dazed and disoriented. It took a few moments for him to be able to even think. He realized that he was in a moving car. Probably laying in the backseat. It was too dark to see. But why was he-

Everything that had happened at the office came rushing back to him. Bruce. Phil. Blood. Death. The strange man. Steve realized that he must have been kidnapped. What else could have happened? He sure as hell wasn't in the back of an ambulance. He began to panic. What was going to happen to him now? Was this psycho taking him somewhere else to kill him? Torture him? 

Steve's survival instincts kicked in. He frantically tried to get up, not really sure what he was going to do. Attack his kidnapper, maybe. Or at least jump out of the car. But he couldn't move. The bastard must have tied him up. Now that he was focusing on it, he could definitely feel ties around his wrist and ankles and knees. There was a cloth stuffed in his mouth and tied around the back of his head. This guy was making sure Steve didn't go anywhere.

“Are you awake?” a voice asked. Male. Monotone. Not particularly deep.

Steve was angry again. How could this fucker sound so unaffected by what he just did?

“You were asleep for awhile,” the man continued. “We're almost there.”

Steve didn't know where “there” was, but it couldn't be any good. He tried in vain to get out of his restraints. All he ended up doing was chafing his skin and exhausting himself. His captor stayed eerily quiet as Steve squirmed and struggled. Steve thought that he would have preferred it if the guy was talking. At least then Steve would know what was on his mind.

Steve didn't know long it was before they finally stopped. It could have been minutes or hours. The car was turned off and he heard his captor get out. The small man couldn't help but flinch when the door by his head opened and his kidnapper grabbed him and pulled him out. He struggled as he was flung over a broad shoulder and carried away. Was this it? Was this freak going to kill him now? Steve managed to get a glimpse of the rust colored truck they drove in before he heard the jangling of keys and a door opening. All he managed to see was a bit of wooden floor before another door opened and he was flung down on a bed.

His captor made quick work of securing his wrists to the barred headboard. Steve cried out against his gag and tried his best to kick out. Who knew what was going to happen to him now?

But as soon as he had finished tying Steve, the man left the room and shut the door behind him. Steve stared at the door, certain that his captor would return at any moment with knife or gun and finish what he started in the office. Steve tried to get control of his breathing. Having an attack right now would do him no good. He could feel his inhaler in his pocket. His belt was cutting into him.

The man didn't come back. Steve kept his eyes open until they ached, afraid that the moment he blinked he would end up with a knife in his neck.

He eventually fell asleep.

 

There was light coming in through a nearby window when he woke. Steve didn't remember falling asleep. He cursed himself for it. What if his captor had come back at some point in the night? But it didn't seem like he had. Steve was exactly the same as he was last night. Bound, sore, and helpless, but otherwise unharmed.

Steve looked around the room he was in. The walls were wooden and undecorated. The floor was covered in a dark blue carpet. The one window was by the foot of the bed he was laying on. A nightstand was next to the bed. Steve tried to relax. His back was aching from lying still for so long. Well, he had made it through the night. He at least had that going for him.

It wasn't long before he noticed his bladder was full. Fuck, this is just what he needed. There was no way for him to relieve himself like this. Not unless he wanted to wet the bed. Steve didn't know how highly his captor valued his possessions, but he wasn't going to risk making a mess. And as much as he didn't want to be around the man who had killed his coworkers, Steve wasn't going to stay like this. If he was going to die, it wasn't going to be with piss soaked pants.

But how was he going to get the bastard's attention? Steve scooted up the bed as best as his restraints would allow. He found that if he reached, his hands could touch the wall behind him. He balled them into fist and hit the wall as hard as he could. It made an echo all through the room. Steve listened for movement outside the door. Nothing. Oh lord, what if the man wasn't even in the building anymore?

Determined, Steve kept knocking on the wall. What if he had been abandoned here, left to starve? He would have rather been stabbed like Phil. It couldn't have been more than a minute before the door opened and his captor stepped in the room. The man had removed his cap and jacket. His brown hair looked greasy and matted in the light. He was wearing a black shirt that allowed Steve to see the man's muscular arms and torso. 

He walked over to the bed and undid the gag. “What is it?” he demanded in a flat voice.

Steve wanted to shout at this fucker. Wanted to tell him everything that had been bubbling inside of him ever since he found Phil's body. Wanted to bring some emotion to that blank face and eyes. But that could wait for later. 

He couldn't believe he was saying this. “I...I have to use the...bathroom.” What a thing to request from his potential killer.

The man just looked at him for a few moments. If he hadn't already spoken, Steve would have wondered if he knew English. His bladder felt ready to burst. Steve was just about to beg when the man moved. Fast as lightning, he pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and cut the rope on Steve's legs. Steve had just registered what happened when the man started to untie his wrists from the bedframe. He pocketed the knife before seizing Steve by the shoulders and dragging him off the bed. Every instinct Steve had told him to run at that moment, but his legs had gone numb from disuse. Everywhere else hurt badly.

The man lifted him by the arms and half-carried, half-marched him out the door, Steve could see now that they were in a small house, likely a cabin. There was a living room, a kitchen, and another door on the opposite side of the building which was revealed to be the bathroom. There was nothing special about it. White ceramic toilet, sink, and bathtub. Steve was hoping that the man would undo his hands so he could take care of himself, but that wasn't the case. His captor stood him in front of the toilet and raised the lid with a foot. He kept one strong arm around Steve's chest and used to other hand to undo Steve's fly and pulled out his cock. “Go on,” the man instructed him.

Steve couldn't believe this. No, no way was he letting this guy help him piss. “Please -”

“Go. _On_.” It was the first time Steve heard any infliction in the man's voice. It was terrifying.

So he swallowed his pride and shut his eyes and let himself go. The sound of his stream hitting the toilet water hit his ears, so at least the man was aiming him right. He tried to focus on that sound and not the situation he was in.

When he was finished, the man tucked him back into his pants and flushed the toilet. Steve wasn't surprised when he was lifted and carried back to the room he woke up in, where he was dropped back onto the bed. The man simply stood and looked at him. His eyes were a bit narrowed, as if Steve did something odd. Steve scooted as far back as he could. He was going to get some damn answers and he wanted at least some distance in between them.

“Who are you?” he demanded. Best to start out simple.

The man stayed silent.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The man shrugged. 

Steve was getting frustrated. “You had to bring me here for a reason. What was it? Are you going to kill me like you killed Phil and Bruce?”

It was silent for a few long moments. “Who are Phil and Bruce?”

“Those two men who you slaughtered back in the office!” Steve cried. “Remember? Bruce was the one who's throat you cut and you fucking stabbed Phil with his own box cutter!”

The man nodded. “I remember.” Still no emotion. 

Steve's felt ready to explode. Not for the first time he wished that he was as big and strong as a guy his age should be. “They were innocent people! Phil had a fucking _family_! Why did you kill them, you sick son of a bitch?”

The man shrugged again. “The door was open. It was easy.”

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. “That's it? Just because you _could_?”

“I guess so.”

Steve took a few deep breaths. He wasn't sure he could handle another minute with this monster. “And what about me? I'm an easy target, aren't I? Why aren't you killing me right now?”

The man frowned. He seemed confused as well. “I don't want to.”

“Why did you bring me here if you won't kill me?”

Another damn shrug. “Felt like it.”

“Oh, god,” Steve groaned. He had been taken to god-knew-where on the complete whim of a murderer. And he thought his life sucked before.

Another tense silence. 

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You can call me Bucky,” the man said. He somehow looked nervous, as if this was precious information he was giving Steve.

“Bucky,” the blond repeated. Of all the names he expected a killer to have, that wasn't it. He let out a hysterical laugh. “Hi there, Bucky. I'm Steve.”


	2. Chapter 2

The man – _Bucky_ – was looking over the things that Steve had in his pockets. His inhaler, keys and wallet. The blond had no idea how this weirdo even noticed them. (Okay, his inhaler may have made a bulge, but still.) Not to say that Steve handed them over easily. He had naturally scooted back when Bucky suddenly reached for him. His hands had been retied behind his back with a softer rope that didn't rub his wrists as much. Steve had tried to kick out, only to have his legs seize. Before he could shout, he was pulled forward and felt hands roughly reaching into his pockets. 

Okay, fine, he wasn't hurt. But he did not appreciate being manhandled like that, no siree.

Bucky was turning over the inhaler in his hands as if inspecting it. Steve cringed when tossed it up and down a few times. What if the bastard broke it? It wasn't like there were any pharmacies in...wherever they were. “Hey, be careful with that!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the smaller man. But he put the inhaler down on the nightstand and picked up Steve's wallet. Steve didn't like it when anybody went through his things without permission. Knowing he couldn't do anything about it just made it worse.

Bucky counted the meager amount of money Steve had before pocketing it. Steve tried not to be too upset over that. It was only enough for bus fare and a cheap meal. Besides, he would probably die before he ever spent any money again.

He pulled out Steve's driver's license. “Steven Grant Rogers,” he read aloud. “Born July fourth, nineteen eighty-nine. From Brooklyn, New York.”

“Yeah,” Steve said dryly, “that's me.”

The man stared at Steve's tiny picture before flicking his eyes over to the blond. It was like he was making sure it was really Steve. Steve would give his entire paycheck to know what was going on in this man's head.

Steve suddenly remembered that he had left his phone back in his apartment. It was a cheap thing that didn't often get signal, so Steve didn't always take it with him. It wasn't like he had anyone to call, anyway. But it sure as hell could have helped him out of this predicament. Or maybe not. Bucky would have surely found it on him and taken it by now.

Bucky eventually put his ID back in the wallet and tossed it next to the inhaler on the nightstand. Steve watched as his captor turned and left the room without another word. Great, now he was alone again. He found that he preferred it when Bucky was in eyesight. At least then he knew what the guy was up to. Sort of. 

He curled up slightly on the scratchy quilt and sighed. His frames dug into his face, but he ignored the pressure. How long was he going to be stuck here? Bucky had told him that he didn't want to kill him, but that meant nothing. The man clearly had some trouble upstairs. What was going to stop him from ending Steve's life on an impulse?

The man did seem to have some interest in Steve, though. Maybe he could keep himself alive long enough to figure out a way out of this place. 

 

Bucky didn't return until the late evening. Steve had been busy counting the cracks in the ceiling when the door creaked open again. He was instantly on alert. There was no way he could let his guard down around this maniac. 

His captor was carrying a mug with a bendy straw in it, a piece of brown bread, and a bottle of water. Steve's stomach instantly growled. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. But he had been too worried for his life to think much about that.

Bucky sat down in front of him and yanked him by the front of his shirt into a sitting position. He then raised the straw to Steve's mouth. “Drink it.”

Now matter how hungry or thirsty he was, there was no way Steve was going to eat anything this man gave him. He stubbornly pressed his lips together.

Bucky gave him a dirty look. “Drink it,” he insisted, sounding almost like an impatient child. When Steve didn't comply, the stronger man grabbed his jaw and pried it open enough to get the straw in. Steve tried to move his head back, but Bucky held him still.

“Drink it.”

There was no way he was getting out of this. He wouldn't put it past his captor to shove the damn straw down his throat. He hesitantly sucked on the straw and allowed the lukewarm broth down his throat. It didn't taste poisoned. Not that he knew what poison tasted like. Steve maintained eye contact with Bucky. The man's face was blank, but his eyes had some odd intensity in them. Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't uncomfortable with that gaze on him.

He drank about half of it before Bucky allowed him to pull back. The straw was quickly replaced with the bread being pressed against his lips. He sighed internally and took a small bite. It was dry and stale, but he swallowed it anyway. At least it wasn't moldy. This guy seemed to be in good shape for someone with food like this, Steve thought. Bucky held it to his mouth until Steve had eaten all of it. As soon as Steve took the final bite, the straw was placed at his lips again. He downed the rest of it quickly, wanting to get the worst meal of his life over with.

His now sated stomach twisted when Bucky pulled two small white pills out of his pocket and held them to Steve's mouth. “Open.”

No way. No fucking way was he taking any kind of drugs. He could accept lackluster food, but he had no idea what these would do to him. Steve clenched his jaw and shook his head in defiance. This lunatic could go fuck himself.

Bucky frowned at him. “I said _open_. Open up.”

Steve didn't budge.

Bucky huffed and shoved him onto his back before straddling his chest. Steve's frail lungs were screaming for air in no time. His captor's weight was crushing him. When Bucky forced his mouth open again, Steve managed to get a deep breath in before his captor dropped the pills inside his mouth and poured a quarter of the water in. Steve instinctively swallowed when Bucky pressed against his throat, nearly choking on the liquid. God, he had never felt more helpless in his life. What was going to happen now?

It took mere seconds for the drugs to kick in. Steve felt his body relax and his eyes start to droop. Bucky hummed gently and lifted Steve's head to give him more water. The smaller man drank it without protest. He was pretty thirsty...

Bucky removed his shoes and belt and tie. Steve laid motionless as Bucky undid the rope around his wrist, only to secure them yet again to the headboard with Steve's own tie. A part of Steve's brain feared that his captor would try something with him now, but Bucky once again left. Steve fully succumbed to the effects of the pills before he found out if Bucky ever returned that night.

 

It seemed like hardly any time had passed when he woke. But the soft light pouring in the room told him that it was morning. What was in those pills to make him sleep through the entire night? He swept his eyes down his body. No new damage that he could see. He sighed and pulled slightly at his restraint. The fact that it was his own tie was somehow embarrassing. At least it didn't chafe as much as the rope. 

He was disgusted with how relieved he was when Bucky came into the room. He really need to piss again.

His captor was carrying a plastic shopping bag. He must have drugged Steve so that the blond wouldn't try and escape while the cabin was empty. Or so he wouldn't complain anymore. Or both. Bucky placed the bag on the nightstand before untying Steve and taking him to the bathroom. Steve swallowed when the same process as yesterday was repeated. When he tried to protest, Bucky tapped him hard on the nose, the way someone would chastise a puppy.

He was then taken back to the bedroom where he was rebound and pushed to sit on the bed. Bucky retrieved the bag and dumped out the contents on the blanket before sitting almost uncomfortably close to the smaller man. The first thing that caught Steve's eye was a rolled up newspaper. He caught a glimpse of what he was sure were Phil's eyes and forehead. 

“Let me see that,” he demanded.

Bucky selected a pre-made sandwich from the pile. “Eat first.”

“But -”

Bucky silenced him with a look. Steve waited anxiously while he allowed Bucky to hand feed him again. The sandwich tasted like nothing, which Steve was glad of. He didn't think he could stomach the taste of anything at the moment. Steve shuddered when Bucky wiped off his lips with a calloused thumb.

“Can I see that now?” He tilted his head toward the paper.

“Are you thirsty?” Bucky asked, as if Steve hadn't spoken. He held up a bottle of Gatorade.

“No, I'm not,” Steve said through gritted teeth. He didn't want to set this freak off by snapping at him. “I just want to see the paper.”

Bucky frowned at him, but obligingly took the rubber band off the paper and rolled it out. Steve gasped at the cover. There were three pictures that took up half the page: Bruce, Phil, and himself. Steve didn't know where the pictures of the murdered men came from. His own was the same one from his driver's license.

“That's you,” Bucky pointed out. He ran a finger over Steve's picture.

“Yeah,” Steve choked. “It is.” 

Bucky read the article out loud, his voice disturbingly void of emotion. “Yesterday, the bodies of two men were discovered in a Brooklyn office. Bruce Banner, 47, was found with his throat slashed in a back room. Banner was an employee in the office. Phil Coulson, 52, worked as a janitor. Coulson was also found in the back, having suffered a stab wound to the chest and multiple lacerations. There was no sign of forced entry, nor were the police able to find any DNA evidence at the scene. Some officials believe this may be the work of the infamous 'Winter Slasher', who was rumored to have killed over fifteen people over the span of two months. There has not been brutal killings like these since the killer disappeared last February. 'It's just terrible,' says Detective Natasha Romanov. 'This man needs to be apprehended at all costs. We are doing everything we can to find him'. Police are also looking for Steven Rogers, 25, who also worked in the office and never clocked out the night of the killings. There was no sign of him in the office or at his apartment. If anyone is aware of his whereabouts, please contact the police. Banner is survived by his wife and daughter. Coulson is survived by his ex-wife, son and daughter.”

 

If Steve wasn't a man of strong will, he might have thrown up his lunch. “I didn't know Bruce was married,” he whispered.

Bucky shrugged and tossed the paper aside.

Steve was infuriated. “You left two families without their husbands and fathers! Don't you care at all? You've destroyed their lives!”

“Not really.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. The gesture could almost pass as casual. “Everyone dies eventually.”

“It wasn't their time!” Steve insisted. Something occurred to him. “Wait...'The Winter Slasher'...Is that _you_?”

“I guess so,” Bucky answered. “It's what they call me.”

Steve immediately scooted away, causing Bucky to glare at him. This situation was even worse than he'd imagined. He was trapped here with a serial killer. “So it's true then? You've killed over fifteen people? Just like you killed Phil and Bruce?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “More or less. Probably more.”

“Why?” Steve couldn't help but ask. “Why would you do this?”

For the first time, Steve saw the corner's of Bucky's mouth turn upward. The small grin made Steve afraid down to his core.

“Because I like it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were all the same. Steve would wake up and wait for Bucky to come and take him to the bathroom. His captor would then take him back to his bedroom (when did he start thinking that this room was _his_?), tie him back up, and feed him. Never anything good, either. It was always soup or a bland sandwich or a cup of instant noodles. Bucky would force a pill down his throat that knocked him out until evening, where the entire process was repeated.

It was horrible. Was this going to be the rest of his life? Waking up long enough to eat and use the toilet? Even worse was that Steve was becoming used to this routine. He had stopped trying to struggle or get away at this point. Why bother? He was asleep most of the day, and Bucky hardly left him alone when he was awake. He doubted that he could take Bucky in a fight, even if he was unbound. He was certain the man kept some exercise equipment somewhere around the cabin. How else did he stay in shape?

Steve was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He had been wearing the same clothes for nearly a week now and was sure that he stunk by this point. His limbs were stiff and ached from disuse. His hair was becoming greasy and his skin felt dirty. He hadn't felt this desperate for a shower since that time in high school when his mom couldn't pay the water bill for a month.

He managed to hold back his frustration for awhile. Steve had unintentionally relaxed around his captor, but that didn't mean he trusted the man. Who knew what the killer might end up doing to him?

Bucky seemed to notice his troubles. During “dinner time”, as Steve had taken to calling his second feeding of the day, Bucky fed him yet another bowl of salty, semi-warm broth. Steve ate his meals slowly now, trying to put off his drug induced sleep for a bit longer. He was surprised when Bucky only gave him a half pill this time, instead of the usual two. Steve made sure to give Bucky a dirty look before swallowing it. He didn't want a repeat of the first time. The drug made his body relax and his eyelids droop, but he was awake. He quickly started to panic. What was this man going to do with him now?

Steve couldn't do anything but lay still while Bucky left the room. What did his captor want him awake for? Torture? Abuse? A glaring contest? 

Seriously, what was in those pills?

Bucky returned not long after he left. He said nothing as he scooped Steve up and carried him out of the room. Steve was worried about his current situation but there wasn't much he could do but hang limply in the taller man's arms. Bucky carried him as if he was as light as a feather. Steve really shouldn't have been surprised. He was barely ninety five pounds when wet.

Bucky took him into the bathroom. Steve was confused at first, since he had already done his business, but he soon noticed that the faucet on the tub was pouring out water. His stomach twisted at the sight. Was this maniac going to drown him? Did Bucky drug him so Steve wouldn't struggle against it? He would have preferred to be stabbed and have it over with.

Bucky lowered him to the floor and undid the binds on his wrists. Steve would have made a run for it if he could properly move his legs.

His fear grew when Bucky unbuttoned his shirt. The blond whimpered when his undershirt was pulled off after it.

Bucky seemed amused by his discomfort. “Calm down,” he said. “You need a bath.”

A bath? Is that what Bucky brought him in here for? Maybe that should have been obvious, but Steve felt that given the circumstances, he was justified in assuming the worst. 

“Wait -” he started when Bucky reached for the button on his pants. His captor ignored him, naturally, and yanked off the rest of his clothing.

Steve instantly curled up. He was even more vulnerable than he was a few minutes ago. It was embarrassing enough when Bucky held his cock for the toilet, and it was even worse being fully naked in front of him. Was his captor going to try something perverted with him now? Was he into other men? Steve had no fucking clue.

However, Bucky didn't spare him another glance and turned to switch off the faucet. Steve tried to scoot back when Bucky reached for him again, but his body felt heavy and slow. He cried out in protest when his captor seized his thin arm and lifted him to his feet. Steve's free hand immediately went to cover his private area. He had to at least try and save his modesty.

Bucky plucked off his glasses and hearing aid and placed them on the sink. Great, now he was at an even more of a disadvantage. Was today national “Fuck You, Steve” Day or something? Bucky tugged him across the now blurry room and forced him to sit on the edge of the tub.

Steve flinched when his hand was placed in the water. It was extremely hot. He would be boiled alive if he got in there. “It's too hot!” he protested.

Bucky turned the faucet back on. The small flicks of water that hit Steve's skin were cold. 

Steve stared down at the filling tub and shuddered. This was humiliating. He was sitting half-deaf, half-blind, and completely nude in a strange bathroom god-knew-where and was about to be bathed by a serial killer. He would very much rather be in his small apartment searching for roaches in the kitchen.

Bucky turned the faucet off after what couldn't have been a full minute. Gripping Steve's sides, he eased the smaller man into the tub. The water was still hot, but it was bearable now. There was enough to cover his stomach. Steve brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. The less this freak saw of him, the better. 

He kept his eyes on Bucky, straining to see him clearly. His captor was rolling up the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Steve could see a tattoo of a red star on the top of Bucky's left arm. He wondered when the man had gotten it, and what it meant to him. When Bucky noticed him looking, the man frowned and turned Steve's head to face forward.

Bucky kept him in the tub until the water was lukewarm, meticulously scrubbing the smaller man's hair and skin. Steve was forced to sit still while Bucky washed him over and over and over again. The man used some plain scented shampoo in his hair, fingers pulling at the blond's short strands and scratching at his scalp. Steve couldn't help but try to squirm away when Bucky lifted a soaped washcloth to his face, only to have the man give him a small smack on his cheek. 

Steve hated it when his captor did that. He felt like he was being disciplined. Like he was a pet that needed training. Hell, maybe that was what Bucky brought him here for. To be his little pet to look after and train.

The cheap soap Bucky used on him made his skin itch, but Steve didn't bother complaining. The stronger man forced Steve's limbs out of the way so he could scrub his front and then moved the cloth to his back. Steve closed his eyes when Bucky discovered the crooked part of his spine and ran a finger up and down it. 

He squirmed some when Bucky moved down to his middle, but the man only washed his sensitive areas like the rest of his body before moving onto his legs. 

His skin felt raw and dry when Bucky finally let him out of the water. He lifted Steve by the armpits and sat him down on a towel spread out on the floor. The blond shivered as the water still clinging to him turned cool. Bucky procured another scratchy towel and made quick work of drying Steve off. 

Steve didn't like this at all, but at least he felt clean.

Once Bucky made sure every bit of water was gone from his captive's body, he gave Steve back his glasses and hearing aid. Steve was grateful to be able to see and hear clearly again. He took another quick peek at Bucky's star tattoo. Whoever had put it there did a sloppy job. The points weren't evenly lined up and two were bigger than the rest.

He watched as his captor pulled out a bag from the cabinet under the sink. Bucky took a pile of clothing out of it. Steve was amazed to see that the clothes were his size, or at least close. Had this mad man actually gone and gotten him something new to wear?

Bucky swatted his hand away when he reached for the bundle. Steve groaned when Bucky selected a pair of boxers and held them by Steve's feet. The blond lifted his legs slightly so Bucky could put the pale blue cotton on him. They were followed by black tube socks, a pair of khaki shorts that were loose in the waist, and an oversized navy shirt. Steve was happy to be dressed again, even though he felt like a child's dress up doll.

Bucky placed another towel around Steve's shoulder before lifting him up bridal style and carrying him into the living room. Steve grimaced and rested his head against Bucky's broad shoulder. The effects of the pill had yet to wear off. He was beginning to feel like the child instead of it's toy. Would Bucky be giving him a rattle to play with next?

Bucky brought him over to the couch. The man sat down with Steve still in his arms and propped his feet up on the wooden coffee table in front of them. He then adjusted the blond so he was facing forward and sitting between his legs. Steve was a bit surprised to see a television sitting on a stand against the wall. He had never heard it on before. At least when he was awake, that is.

Steve jumped when something landed on his lap. Looking down, he saw it was a remote. His eyes narrowed when Bucky quietly chuckled at his reaction. Well, if this wasn't a signal that he was allowed to use it, Steve didn't know what was. He was dying to know what was going on in the wold right now. What had he missed in the week that he had been held here? He still didn't know where “here” even was.

Steve didn't want to be too obvious and avoided going straight to a news station. Instead, he started at channel three and slowly made his way up. While he did this, Bucky began to dry his wet hair with the towel they brought. Steve couldn't see what the man was doing, but he could feel the towel being rubbed all over the top of his head. Bucky seemed determined to get out all the excess moisture that he could.

By the time Steve had gone through twenty channels, his captor was running a brush through his hair. It was unpleasant at first. Bucky pulled hard to get the brush through his matted locks, and combed it every which way. He thankfully settled on moving it back to front in even strokes. It almost felt nice.

Since his captor was preoccupied, Steve decided it was safe to change it to what he assumed was the local news channel. Bucky said nothing and continued to groom him.

It was the usual stuff. The schools lacked funding, old men were threatened by teenagers texting, some idiot didn't know how to use his turn signal and caused a mild accident. Steve was glad to see that they were still in New York. Maybe this place was near a camping site? Steve didn't know how remote it was from civilization.

He sucked in a breath when the next story came on.

“An employee at a small retail store was found murdered today,” the female anchor reported. A picture of an elderly woman with glasses and a sweet smile appeared on the screen. “Seventy-two year old Edith Mills was working her afternoon shift when an unidentified man entered the store. Due to what officials are calling a glitch, the security cameras turn off when he walks in. When they come back on, the man is gone and Mills has suffered multiple stab wounds to the chest. She was immediately taken to the hospital, but doctors were unable to save her. Police are now on the lookout for this man.” The security footage began to play. Steve felt sick when he recognized Bucky as the man on film.

“What did you do?” he demanded. He tried to turn around to face this maniac, but Bucky held him still and continued brushing.

“Hmm?”

“Bucky, that was you, wasn't it?” Steve asked. “Why did you hurt that woman?”

His captor paused for a moment. “She was mean to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She gave me a dirty look when I came in,” Bucky answered, sounding almost hurt. “She said that I looked like a bum and needed to shave. That she didn't like my kind.”

“Okay, so she was rude,” Steve said with a dry mouth. “That doesn't mean she deserved to die.”

“I couldn't help it,” Bucky murmured. “I don't like it when people talk to me like that.” He went back to Steve's hair like they hadn't just spoken.

Steve had to keep himself from shivering. He was practically sitting on the lap of a man who either killed on a whim or was provoked by the most trivial things. It was a miracle that he was still alive at this point. 

This strengthened his resolve to escape his captor. Bucky was unpredictable and could still kill him at any moment. Steve didn't know what made him so special, but he wasn't going to wait until his already bad luck ran out.


	4. Chapter 4

The good news was that Bucky had stopped drugging him during the day. The bad news was that Steve now had to suffer his captor's company. Not that it was much company. Bucky had taken to sitting on the end of the bed in silence. Sometimes he would stare at Steve. The blond would shiver as he felt the cold blue eyes boring into him. It made him squirm against his bonds more and more. Who knew what was going through this maniac's head? Other times Bucky would stare at the wall or the floor for hours on end. Steve found he preferred the latter. 

He did his best not to show it, but he was still very much afraid of this man. The blond had not forgotten what happened to his coworkers or to the old woman on the news. Bucky could turn on him in an instant. Steve was cautious, and kept his guard up. There was no way he could put any trust in his captor.

But when Steve was awake, the days passed slowly and he quickly became bored. He occupied himself by thinking over his life. Steve found himself thinking of his mother in particular. Sarah Rogers had been a beautiful, kind woman. She had worked hard as a nurse and raised Steve singlehandedly. His father had died overseas before he was even born. She had loved her small son more than anyone else ever had, and he had loved her back. Even when the hospital cut her pay and their landlord raised the rent. Even when the cost of his doctor visits and medicines went up. Even when she became sick herself. Steve had lost her a few years ago to cancer. He had been devastated when she decided not to go through with chemotherapy.

“It's just my time to go, Stevie,” she had explained while stroking his pale cheek.

She had been his only family. Steve had never had much luck in the friend department, so he lost his only companion when she died. Until recently, he had filled all of his time either at work or alone in his apartment. He doubted that anyone but the police were looking for him. Steve didn't really have anyone else to worry about him.

Maybe it was the human need to interact or the fact that Steve was a man of action, or both, but after three days of this Steve decided to communicate with his captor. Maybe the man would be more willing to open up now.

It took him a while to work up the courage to speak. “Bucky?” he asked quietly.

The man's head shot up immediately, his face open and curious. It was a great change from how he looked mere seconds ago, solemn and blank, gazing at the carpet. “What?”

Steve didn't even know what to say. He somehow didn't think his captor would actually respond. “I...um...” he stammered. Bucky kept looking at him, patient as a saint. “Um... how are you?” he offered up weakly. 

His captor's brow furrowed. He looked like he didn't know the meaning of those words. Steve almost squeaked (yes squeaked) in fear when Bucky crawled up the bed and settled next to him. Bucky sat with his back against the headboard and looked down at Steve. The taller man must have bathed himself recently. He smelled like the same cheap soap he used on Steve and his hair no longer looked matted and greasy. Steve wondered when the last time he cut it or shaved was. Maybe it was Bucky's way of detracting attention from himself. The blond had a feeling that his captor would turn a few heads if he was well-groomed. And, you know, not bat-shit insane. 

Steve flinched away when Bucky's hand came up to graze his face, which caused his captor to frown. Steve had to think fast if he still wanted to the man to speak to him. “Bucky,” he said before he even knew what he was doing “can you tell me how you got your tattoo?” Fuck, fuck, goddamnit.

As expected, Bucky glared at him. Steve couldn't help but shudder. The look in his captor's eyes was actually frightening. Was this what all his victims saw before their lives brutally ended? Something about Bucky's gaze pinned him, made him feel too petrified to move away. Why the hell had he asked that? It was obvious that Bucky didn't want Steve to so much as look at the misshapen red star, so what made Steve ask about its origins? Of course it would be his mouth to finally do him in.

A few tense moments passed. To his surprise, Bucky's mouth curled upward and the man let out a low chuckle. He once again ran his hand across Steve's cheek. “You're so cute,” Bucky murmured.

A chill went up Steve's spine. The guy thought he was cute? What did that mean? Did he want to abuse Steve, or was the blond like a puppy to him? This time, Steve couldn't hold back his shocked yelp when Bucky laid down next to him and cuddled up close. His tattooed arm went around Steve's middle. 

Steve could hear his heartbeat in his ears. What was Bucky doing now? The man hadn't been this close since they sat in front of the television a few days ago. He counted the seconds to distract from the feel of his captor's hard body. He had gotten to four hundred and sixty-two before Bucky unexpectedly broke the silence. 

“...gave it to me,” Bucky whispered, so quiet that Steve only caught part of what he said. “I didn't want it...asked him not to...laughed at me...”

“Bucky?” Steve asked just as quietly. What was his captor talking about? Did someone hurt him?

 

He gasped softly when Bucky's grip around him tightened. Steve had the sudden vision of himself as a teddy bear and Bucky as a child needing comfort. Which was absurd. Bucky was a confessed serial murderer. But he sounded so – so _vulnerable_. It Steve hadn't been tied up and afraid for his life, he might have felt inclined to hug the taller man. He laid still in his captor's grasp and resisted the urge to squirm away. It wouldn't do any good to upset Bucky even more.

“I found him later,” Bucky continued. “I made him pay. He deserved it. They all deserved it.”

Steve knew that he wasn't perfect, but he honestly couldn't think of a single thing he'd done to deserve being stuck here with this maniac. Did Bucky think himself some sort of vigilante? Punishing all the “bad” people in the world? Steve said it before and he'd say it again: this guy had serious issues.

But there was no way he could tell Bucky that without risking his life. “I'm sure they did,” he agreed, trying to placate the dangerous man holding him.

It seemed to work. Bucky hummed happily and pulled Steve even closer. On some lonely nights, Steve had wished that he had someone to hold him tightly like this. Except he imagined a little more boyfriend/girlfriend and less psychopath. 

Steve counted to two thousand, eight hundred and twenty when Bucky sat up and untied his wrists. Steve looked at him curiously. It wasn't dinner time yet. He didn't protest when Bucky scooped him up and headed toward the door, but internally he panicked. Was Bucky going to give him another bath? Something else? Steve didn't want to go through that humiliation again, but he knew it could be worse.

He almost sighed in relief when Bucky settled them on the couch again. Bucky kept Steve on his lap this time, and handed the smaller man the remote before wrapping his strong arms around Steve's stomach. Steve tried his best to relax. But it was difficult when his body moved with Bucky's breathing and he could feel warm breath on the back of his neck. It only became harder when Bucky started to bounce his knee. Steve once again felt like a small child being looked after. It was amazing how his captor could change how Steve saw himself so frequently.

Steve gazed down at the remote in his hand. Was this his reward for good behavior? For being quiet and not fighting? Steve felt ashamed. How could he give in this easily? What other options did he have? He was doing his best to stay alive.

He quickly settled on a baseball game and tried to focus on it. Payed close attention to who was on base and what the weather at the stadium was like and what the mascots were doing and remembered that one game he attended when he was seventeen and what the hell was Bucky doing with his hand?

One of Bucky's hands was moving in slow circles over his stomach. Not quite rubbing, not quite a caress. Just applying some pressure and moving the fabric of his shirt. Okay, this was weird, but at least he wasn't being hurt. Steve tried to go back to the game. He felt like he was he was being petted.

They both went still when there a noise outside. Not really close to the cabin, but near enough to be heard. It sounded like a car door slamming. Steve's heart jumped to his throat. Was someone here to save him? Did the police manage to track Bucky down? Maybe not. His captor had a history of covering his tracks. Steve still hoped.

He felt Bucky tense beneath him. 

“Damn,” his captor muttered. He moved Steve off his lap and onto the couch before rising. The man sternly looked at Steve. “Wait here,” he ordered before heading out the front door.

Steve sat still for a few long moments. What was Bucky doing? Was he checking out the surrounding area or was he going to kill whoever was out there? Both? Steve didn't know how long the man would be gone, but this could be his only chance to escape. He slowly got up from the couch and stayed in place for a few more moments. He didn't want to know how Bucky would react to Steve disobeying him.

He swiftly went over to a curtained window that was near the door. This was a risk, but Steve had to see if Bucky was close by. He slowly moved the curtain aside and got his first view of outdoors in more than a week. There was grass on the ground and there were trees in the distance. No sign of Bucky or his truck or whoever else was out there.

Well, it was now or never. Steve cautiously opened the door and poked his head out. The coast looked clear. He realized that he wasn't wearing any shoes and he had no idea what Bucky had done with the ones Steve had worn to work. But he couldn't worry about that now. Who knew when a chance like this would come along again?

He stepped outside and relished the scent and feel of fresh air. Okay, he was out. Now what? Steve knew that he was going to have to move fast if he didn't want Bucky to catch him. His best option was to head into the woods. He didn't know the area at all, but there was always the chance that he would come across someone who could help him or he would actually find his way into town. The taste of freedom was practically on his tongue.

Growing up in Brooklyn, he had never spent too much time out in nature like this. But he figured he would get somewhere and avoid Bucky if he zigzagged through enough trees and kept heading straight. He kept looking back over his shoulder for good measure. He knew how quiet his captor could be deadly quiet if he wanted to. Steve was just beginning to feel confident when he heard a cry to his right. He quickly ducked behind a tree. What was that? He slowly gathered the courage to look around the tree and located the source of the noise. What he saw made his blood run cold. About twenty feet away was Bucky and another man wearing hunter's camouflage. Bucky had the man pinned up against a tall oak and was holding a knife to his throat. 

Everything in Steve said that he should try and help this man. But what could he do? Steve was powerless against Bucky, and the man wasn't holding any weapons that Steve could see. He considered crying out to distract Bucky from killing yet another innocent, even if it cost him his escape. Bucky cut the man's throat from ear to ear before Steve could even get his mouth open. Bucky coolly stepped back to avoid the blood spray and let the body drop to the ground.

Steve pressed back against the tree and held a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't scream. He'd never seen Bucky actually kill someone before, just the results. Oh God, what if the maniac had seen him? He couldn't have. He had been much too preoccupied with his victim.

Despite his best efforts, Steve had ended up close to the man he was trying to get away from. Just his luck. If he kept going forward, there was a chance that Bucky would see him. He knew Bucky would soon return to the cabin and discover that Steve was no longer there. Bucky would surely come after him then. If he stayed in this spot and waited for the man to leave, he would have less of a head start. Steve decided to keep going in the direction he was facing. He would go awhile and then turn straight after he felt safe. He went as quickly and quietly as he could to the next tree and ducked behind it. His heart was beating fast. He wasn't sure how much of this he could handle. But there was no stopping now. Not if he wanted to escape.

He started a pattern of darting to the next tree and then waiting a bit before repeating the action. He listened carefully for any footsteps or breathing behind him. The blond managed to do this five times before he was stopped. Steve cried out as a knife went flying past his head and penetrated the tree he was about to run to. He instantly knew that Bucky was after him. But he had been so _careful_. 

Steve looked around, searching for an escape route. All his plans were foiled when strong hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, lifted him and flung him over a now familiar shoulder. Steve struggled with all he had as Bucky carried him back to the cabin. No, no, he didn't want to go back there! Especially not after the small bit of freedom he'd just had. He let out a small cry when a smack was delivered to his backside. Did Bucky just spank him? Steve had never felt so indignant in his life. Maybe it was a good thing he was about to die. He wouldn't have to put up with this anymore.

Bucky flung him down in the grass and dirt when they returned “home”. Steve had no time to get over the sudden pain before Bucky sat on his waist and pinned down his arms. His captor looked furious.

Bucky leaned in close. “I told you to stay here!” he snarled.

Steve glared back defiantly. Might as well die with a brave face.

Bucky stared down at him. The man was breathing heavily from both anger and physical exertion. He chewed his lip some before speaking again. “Why did you do this? You were being so _good_.”

Steve flinched when Bucky moved to sit on one of his legs. The man took hold of the other one and grasped his calf tightly. “Do you know what happens to people when they're bad? Huh? They. Get. _Punished_.” 

Steve cried out when Bucky started to apply pressure to his leg. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt! Was his captor going to cripple him now? Make sure he couldn't get away? He would be even more helpless than he already was. “Bucky, Bucky, please!” he begged. “I'm sorry! I'll – ah! - I'll be good! I promise! Just – ah! Just stop! Please!”

Bucky stilled and gazed down coldly at him. “You promise? Really?”

“Yes, yes, I promise!” Steve swore.

Bucky let go of his leg and grabbed him by the neck. The stronger man lifted him up so they were eye to eye. “Next time,” Bucky said, his voice dark, “I _will_ break it.”

Something hit the side of Steve's head, and he was grateful when everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha sighed and threw a file on her desk. All day she had been going over evidence from the murders and possible kidnapping in Brooklyn two weeks ago. So far there had been no leads or steps toward finding the culprit.

The redhead covered her face with her hands and sighed again. She had been working as a detective with the NYPD for over three years now. She was young, in her mid-twenties, but she did her job better than men with fifteen years of experience. Natasha had gained a reputation for swiftly tracking down and catching criminals of all kinds. She always gained a sense of satisfaction from locking up those scumbags. So that's why not catching this killer was giving her a giant headache. 

She opened the file again with agitation. Maybe she should get some more coffee. Or vodka. Part of her just wanted to forget about this mess for awhile and get some proper rest. The rest of her knew that she had to get this maniac off the streets as soon as possible. 

Natasha looked down at the pictures in the file. Two innocent men, fathers, who were dead because of a very sick man. She had seen this style of killing before. Last February, when the infamous “Winter Slasher” was at large. (God, what a stupid name.) She and her partner, Clint, had worked hard on the case. There were multiple murders throughout the states New York, Maine, and New Jersey. Fifteen men and woman, all brutally slain. They had done their best to bring the killer to justice, but there was never any evidence or any trace or trail of him. There had been rumors that there were multiple or copycat killers. There had been, for all she knew.

She stared down at the picture of Steve Rogers. If this was indeed the Winter Slasher returned, then the guy disappearing from the murder scene was just odd. It didn't seem like his style. (Maybe this was another copycat?) There were never any survivors from one of the killer's attacks. She had checked Rogers' background. The poor guy had no family and no friends had come forward. If he had just left somewhere, they had no way of knowing. But he never reported to his boss and his apartment remained empty, so there was really no other alternative then he was taken by the killer. Natasha picked up the picture of the small blond man. The poor guy had a medical history as long as Natasha's arm. He was most likely dead by now, but they were going to keep looking. Steve Rogers surely deserved that. 

There was a knock at her office door.

“Chief Fury,” she acknowledged as her boss stepped in. She smiled gratefully when he put a cup of fresh coffee on her desk.

“Detective Romanov,” he greeted. “How's it coming?”

“I still can't find anything new,” she all but growled. “This bastard is just as slippery as the last time.”

“We'll catch him,” he replied confidently. “We got the best cop in New York on the case.”

“Thanks,” she said before sipping at her coffee. “Is Clint still in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, old Hawkeye is determined to find something over there,” the chief answered. Her partner and boyfriend had earned that nickname for his reputation of having extremely sharp sight and picking up on small details.

“He's looked over the crime scene five times already,” Natasha mused. “If he hasn't found anything new by now...”

“Hey, remember the Jefferson case?” Fury asked. “He found that one strand of hair after looking at the victim's clothes eight times? You know how he is.”

“Yeah, he is determined,” Natasha said fondly. She held up Steve Rogers' picture again. “I still can't figure it out. Why would anyone take this guy? He looks like a gust of wind would blow him over. Easy prey, maybe? But then he would have just been killed in the office.”

“I'm not going to pretend I know what this sicko thinks,” Fury declared. “I just hope the kid's still alive.”

“Perhaps he is. Either way, it's our job to bring him home.” Natasha stood from her chair. “I'm going to meet Clint. Maybe I can help him out.”

 

Steve had expected the worst from Bucky after his escape attempt. He had thought that his captor would stop holding back or playing around. He thought that, surely, Bucky would finally do away with him or at least hurt him somehow.

But, no. The past few days hadn't been too different from their usual routine. Bucky had gone back to using rope to tie his wrists, and was now binding his ankles, too. A small form of punishment, Steve figured. The man would still sit on the bed with him, but instead of staring the the floor, Bucky would glare at Steve for hours on end. He actually looked betrayed. Whenever Steve dared to look toward his captor, he would feel strangely guilty. Bucky must have had a bit of trust in him and Steve broke it the first chance he got. Wait, why did he even care? He didn't owe this freak anything. But he was still at this man's mercy. Couldn't forget that. 

Steve would occasionally flex his leg and be grateful it wasn't broken. Now he could at least still dream that he could run away from this awful place and this awful man. He tried to be discreet about it but Bucky never seemed to take his eyes off the smaller man. Seriously, did the guy even blink?

They stayed in tense silence for the next couple of days. Steve wondered if this was how the rest of his life would go. Having a weird sense of peace until he made Bucky mad again? Damnit, why couldn't he have run faster when he had the chance? His asthma hadn't even kicked up in the woods. He could have tried harder.

His captor broke the silence a few days after Steve tried to escape. Steve was startled when he felt Bucky move up the bed. Oh god, what was the killer doing now? Coming to strangle him? Steve groaned in discomfort when Bucky sat on his hips, a heavy weight on his thin body. He flinched away when Bucky's cold eyes met his. The glare was even worse up close.

“Look at me.”

Steve forced himself to meet Bucky's gaze. Yes, he was afraid, but he could at least put up a brave front. It was the only sort of control he had in this situation.

Bucky looked at him coolly. “Why did you try to leave? I told you to stay here.” He spoke matter-of-factly, hardly sounding upset.

“I-” Steve wasn't sure what to say. Why did Bucky wait so long to ask him about this? Not that Steve really wanted talk about it.

Bucky grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Why?” It was still amazing how his captor could go from deranged psychopath to impatient child so quickly. 

“I-I want to go home,” Steve admitted quietly. 

Bucky looked confused. What a surprise. “What do you mean?”

Was this freak really so out of touch with reality? What did he think Steve meant? He forced himself to speak calmly. “I want to go back to Brooklyn. I have a job to do and I have to pay rent for my apartment -” he was babbling before he knew it “ - and I promised my neighbor that I'd draw a picture of her and her sister and there's this cat that I always pet and I'm sure the police are looking for me and please I just want to go _home_.”

Bucky looked at him blankly. “But you are home.”

“No, no,” Steve insisted. “This isn't -”

He was stopped by Bucky placing a hand over his mouth. “Yes, you are.” He spoke to Steve as if the blond was a confused child who didn't know any better.

Steve tried for the umpteenth time to guess what was going through Bucky's twisted head. Was this all some demented game of house to him? Was Steve like his pet or his boyfriend or something? 

The sudden realization that Bucky meant to keep him came to Steve. The man wasn't going to kill him (at least not anytime soon) or eventually let him go. Bucky was going to keep Steve prisoner here in this cabin for a good long while. Even if he was crazy, Steve could tell that Bucky was lonely. What better company for a guy like him than a guy like Steve, who was too weak to get away? Bucky was either too afraid or unable to form any connections with people or make any friends, so he just stole one.

Steve didn't move when Bucky laid down next to him. Bucky moved his head so it was laying on his hard chest. “You need to be good,” Bucky murmured. “I don't want to hurt you. I _don't_. I give you food and a bed. You don't have to go anywhere. But you have to be good. I can only keep you safe if you're good.”

“Keep me safe?” Steve whispered. “Safe from what?”

Bucky began to play with his hair. “Out there. Those – those people are just out to get us, Steve. We can't trust anyone.”

Steve swore that Bucky grew more demented by the day. So now the maniac had a grudge against the whole world, huh? And now he was considering Steve a part of his life. Fantastic.

It was silent again for awhile. Steve laid still and passed the time by counting Bucky's breaths. He hated to admit it, but the gentle contact was kinda nice. For once he wasn't being man handled or tossed around. He could almost pretend that he was a kid again and he was cuddling with his mother, especially since Bucky was still playing with his hair. 

Almost.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve said quietly.

“What?”

“Why did you kill that man in the woods?” If Bucky insisted on keeping him around, Steve might as well test his boundaries.

Bucky scooted a bit closer. “He had a gun. He was getting too close to us. I couldn't let him do that.”

“I didn't see a gun.”

“I got it away from him. He ran. I caught him.”

Steve licked his dry lips. “He was probably just hunting turkey or something. You didn't have to kill him.”

He felt Bucky shrug. “Don't care.”

He took a few breaths to calm himself. Bucky talked about people like the former hunter probably talked about game. “What if someone comes looking for him? Surely he told someone where he was going.”

“They won't find him.” There was something so confident, so almost cocky about the way Bucky said that. It made Steve wonder how many bodies that his captor had disposed of. 

He didn't ask any more questions. There was nothing else he wanted to know. Steve fell asleep to the rise and fall of Bucky's chest and the comforting sound of his breathing.

 

Natasha parked her car outside of the Brooklyn office that was still closed for business. It was still considered a crime scene and they couldn't have anyone contaminating it. The owner had given his remaining employees paid leave until further notice.

She saw Clint's car not too far away. So he was still here, then. The detective should have figured. Clint could either work for days on end or do nothing for a week. But she and her partner had a bit of a vendetta against the Winter Slasher ever since the last time he was around. They had worked for months on end to catch him (or her) but they always came up with dead ends. It didn't sit well with either of them. They used to stay up whole nights and try and and figure out what they might have missed. Even when the case went cold, even when several months had passed with no sign of the killer.

They would get the bastard this time, Natasha was sure of it.

Clint wasn't hard to find. He was in the file room where the bodies where found. He was leaning close to the floor and shone a flashlight on the ugly carpet.

“Find anything?” she called out as she approached.

Clint didn't respond, but held up a hand in signal for her to not come any closer. Natasha stopped a few feet away from him. “Guess so.” She watched him as he slowly ran the light over a small area repeatedly. Must be onto something.

His gloved hand suddenly shot forward and grabbed something too small for Natasha to see. He quickly grabbed the plastic evidence bag that was beside him and dropped something inside it. Clint let out a triumphant laugh before jumping up and quickly coming to her. He held the bag up to her face and pointed at what she could now see was a long strand of dark hair.

“Honey,” he drawled “I think I've just struck gold.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched the Law and Order episode with Sebastian Stan in it. I have to say, it was great inspiration.

There was a bit of a celebration going on at the station. 

Clint had quickly sent the sample of hair that he had found off to the crime lab when he and Natasha returned from Brooklyn. The rest of their coworkers had been ecstatic to learn that someone had finally found something that could actually lead somewhere. No one had ever found any evidence at a Winter Soldier killing scene. Except for the dead bodies, that is. A possible piece of his or her DNA was a great find.

“Guys, come on, I was just doing my job,” Clint insisted with a smile. They had all gathered around him in a small circle. Natasha stood proudly by his side. She hadn't stopped smiling since Clint bagged the evidence. This could be a big break in the case.

“Yeah, but you did it better than any of us have,” Sam grinned. Sam Wilson held the rank of sergeant in the department and had been working there for over eight years. He clapped Clint on the shoulder. “This is really great. Maybe we can finally catch this son of a bitch.”

“I certainly hope so,” Natasha chimed. “He's been getting away with this shit for way too long.”

“You sure you're not just holding a personal grudge, babe?” Clint teased. He yelped when she elbowed his side.

“I can't say I'm too sorry for some of the bastards he killed though,” Sam mused. “Did you see the arrest records for that Rumlow guy? Gutting him might have been a gift to this world.”

“I doubt the killer knew that,” Natasha argued. “They also killed a lot of innocent people. What about Alexander Pierce? The guy who was going to run for mayor of the city last year? His record was squeaky clean.”

“Yeah, but you never know about politicians,” Clint reminded them. “Who knows what the guy might have done?”

“How long until we get the results for the hair back?” Sam asked.

“Anywhere from a few days to a week,” Clint answered. “There may not even be anything in the database. This guy knows how to cover his tracks.”

“I'm sure we'll get something,” Natasha said. “This freak has been getting away for way too long. Besides, we're due for some good luck.”

 

Bucky was in a bad mood and Steve had no idea why. 

The blond had been on his best behavior the past few days. Which was really a feat, since his captor had suddenly become much more...clingy. Not that Bucky had become more attached to him, but that the taller man seemed unable to keep his hands off of Steve. Bucky had taken to laying next to Steve day and night and holding him. Sometimes he would bury his face in the space between Steve's neck and shoulder and stay there for hours on end. Steve couldn't help but squirm some when Bucky's hands would wander over him. Bucky never went below his waist, thank the Lord, but Steve was still uncomfortable with the touch. He supposed it wasn't anything “bad”. Bucky's hand would occasionally run up and down one of his arms or his torso. Maybe the touch was comforting for the man, or maybe he thought it was soothing for Steve, or both. 

Okay, perhaps that did mean that Bucky was getting more attached to him. Great. Really, great. That meant the odds of him dying anytime soon went down.

In addition to that, Bucky had been taking them to the couch for longer periods of time. Steve would try his best to pay attention to the television and ignore Bucky's hot breath next to his ear. He had almost even gotten Bucky to let him feed himself the other night. Bucky had brought him a sandwich that was cut into bite-size pieces. Steve had slowly reached for a piece while Bucky watched. The smaller man was just about to pick it up when Bucky swatted his hand away and lifted the food to Steve's mouth himself. Steve knew better by now than to hesitate when his captor hand fed him. It was best for both of them for Steve to just eat and act grateful for it. Bucky had even smiled a bit at him.

So that's why Steve was currently so confused. This morning, Bucky had been unusually rough when taking him to the bathroom. That was enough to put Steve on guard. Especially when the man had practically forced a small bottle of juice down his throat before tying him to the bed, as always. Bucky left after that and had yet to return.

It was pathetic how little time passed before Steve began to feel lonely. He had become used to his captor being right next to him. He wondered what Bucky had gone off to do. It had been over a week since Bucky had left him alone. He shivered in the cool air. It wasn't quite spring time yet, and Bucky's body heat had been keeping him warm. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten sick yet from the cold or stress. Maybe Bucky was slipping vitamins in his food.

Steve went back to his old pass-times: staring at the ceiling, counting, drifting in and out of sleep, and wishing he was anywhere else in the world. He wondered if the police had made any progress in finding them or the hunter's body. Probably not. That would mean that things were going in Steve's direction for once and the universe just couldn't have that.

He hoped that Bruce and Phil's families were doing alright. He didn't know about Bruce's wife and daughter, but Phil's Peter and Maria certainly didn't deserve to lose their father so brutally. They were both still young. Maria was almost the same age Steve was when he lost his mother. It was hard to lose her to a disease. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if someone had taken her life. It was going be hard for them. At least the office provided all its employees with some sort of insurance. It would probably cover the bills for their families for awhile.

Bucky didn't return until evening. He acted coldly towards Steve, handling him roughly and refusing to meet his eyes. As soon as he had the blond sitting up, Bucky pushed a piece of stale buttered bread into his mouth. Steve did his best to chew and swallow without choking. And just when the food had started to get better.

Bucky stood from the bed as soon as Steve had swallowed the last of his meager meal. He didn't even bother retying him to the headboard before storming toward the door.

“Wait! Bucky!” Steve called out before he even knew what he was doing.

His captor paused with his hand on the door knob. He turned and gave Steve a dirty look. “What?” he barked.

Steve swallowed nervously. He knew provoking a killer in an already foul mood was dangerous, but he didn't want to live with anymore fear than he had to. “What...Is something...wrong?”

Bucky continued to glare at him. He reminded Steve of an angry dragon about to incinerate an entire village. The man breathed heavily through his nose and Steve could see his broad shoulders trembling. Steve felt like Bucky was either about to flee the room or attack him. If Bucky left, Steve would have no idea when he was going to come back. The blond couldn't stand the thought of being isolated in this room again. He hated that he now preferred Bucky's sordid company to being alone, but he did.

“Bucky?” he tried again. He spoke quietly, as if he was trying to calm down a spooked animal. 

His captor continued to stare him down. Steve evenly met his gaze. If he looked away, he knew that Bucky would bolt. They stayed that way for what seemed awhile, so of course Steve was surprised when Bucky pushed away from the door and was on top of him in a flash. Steve was flat on his back with Bucky straddling his legs. Steve grimaced when large, rough hands grabbed and squeezed his shoulders. Bucky leaned down so their faces were close together. Bucky no longer looked ferocious, but still upset.

“What's wrong?” his captor echoed. “What isn't wrong? My entire _life_ has been wrong!”

“Bucky, please,” Steve whispered. He needed to calm the other man down fast. “Tell me.”

“...It's my birthday,” Bucky admitted after a small pause. 

“It is?” Steve had somehow never considered that the killer would have a birthday. That Bucky must have had at least a mother at some point who would buy him presents and a cake and be happy with him.

Or maybe he didn't.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. His jaw trembled a bit. “I hate it. It's when everything went wrong. It's when everything became bad.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “What happened?”

Bucky didn't answer. He instead buried his face in Steve's neck and breathed slowly and deeply. His body stated to shake after a few moments.

There was something about the idea of Bucky crying that just didn't sit well with Steve. “Hey, hey. It's alright,” he murmured. “It's alright.”

Bucky whimpered and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. Steve felt like a teddy bear. It was easy to imagine Bucky as a large child who was holding onto him for comfort. The thought was frightening. Despite everything that had happened to him at Bucky's hands, Steve would give everything he had to just get the man some help.

Steve was beginning to let himself relax when Bucky climbed off of him, moving as fast as a jungle cat. “I've got to get out of here,” Bucky muttered. He was out of the room before Steve could even blink.

But he didn't keep Steve waiting for long. Bucky returned within minutes and pulled Steve off the bed. He held the smaller man to his chest like a doll and carried him out of the bedroom. Steve's face had been pressed into his captor's shoulder and couldn't see where they were heading, and was surprised to see that Bucky had taken him into the bathroom. There was a rope tied to the metal handles of the cabinet beneath the sink, which were secured together.

Bucky set him down the floor by the sink and quickly tied the other end of the rope around his wrist. “I'll know if you left,” the man warned before shutting the door behind him. Steve heard the sound of a lock.

He sat in stunned silence for a few moments. What had just happened? Bucky was becoming emotional one moment and he was cold the next. Steve decided to test the limit of the rope. He was able to stand and reach the toilet, but that was it. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a bottle of water and a can of soup with a pop lid sitting on the sink. How long was Bucky going to leave him in here? What was the maniac going off to do? Steve hoped with everything he had that nobody was going to end up hurt.

He sighed and sat on the lid of toilet. Surely his captor wouldn't be gone any longer than a night, right? He would have left Steve more food otherwise...Right? What if someone came to the cabin while Bucky was away? Steve could miss yet another chance to get away. 

He let his mind wander. He wondered what happened on Bucky's birthday to put him in such a bad mood. Which birthday had it been? Had Bucky been very young or older? Had someone been hurt? Was it Bucky's doing? Did someone leave him behind?

Whatever it was, it made Bucky too upset to remember to drug Steve before he left. The man had never left him both alone and awake before. As Steve looked around the small room he was trapped in, he wasn't sure if that was exactly a good thing.

 

The results of the DNA test came in after three days. They all knew that finding a match would be a long shot, so this was especially good news for the police station.

Natasha and Clint eagerly went to the testing lab. They had been working on The Winter Slasher case for over a year and they wanted nothing more than to close it. They both felt that this was the chance they had been waiting for.

“What did you find?” Natasha demanded as soon as they walked in.

“Nice to see you guys, too,” the technician replied. Pepper Potts had been working here for over ten years and was one of the best genealogist in New York.

“Sorry,” Natasha smiled at her friend. “I'm just excited.”

“So did you find a match, Peps?” Clint asked.

“I did,” Pepper affirmed. She tapped a bit on her keyboard and a picture appeared on the screen. It was that of a teenage boy. Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes. Tall and scowling at the camera. “It's a match for a James Barnes. He was arrested eight years ago for assaulting his adoptive father.”

“Where is he now?” Clint demanded.

“No one knows,” Pepper answered. She bit her lip. “He disappeared after being let out of jail. And get this. He was adopted by Alexander Pierce.”

“What? The politician?” Natasha couldn't believe it. There was never any word of Pierce having kids in the news.

“Yeah, took the kid in when he was six after his family died in a car wreck,” Pepper informed them. “Apparently their relationship wasn't so good. He really messed Pierce up. He had to go to the emergency room for stitches and everything. It's a wonder the kid got off so easy.”

“Pierce might have taken him in as a publicity stunt,” Clint mused. “Although no one's ever seemed to hear about the kid. I wonder why bother?”

“I don't know,” Natasha replied. “But we know who we're looking for now. I want this man's picture on every news station in the country. We can have it aged up a few years. James Barnes has been terrorizing people for long enough. It's time he answered for everything he's done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Idk how this science stuff really works please just go with it~~
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> Thanks for all the support so far, guys! It means a lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve was used to feeling alone. No family, no real friends to speak of. Of course loneliness was a familiar feeling by now. But this was the first time he ever felt _isolated_. His whole world had come down to this small white room. 

It wasn't so bad at first. Steve had still been convinced that Bucky would be back soon and let him out of here. He did his best to occupy himself, counting and humming his favorite songs. He imagined what he would do when (if) he ever got back home. Maybe he would finally be able to get a better job. One where he could afford a better place to live and the good paintbrushes and perhaps his own cat. He didn't even care if it was another office. Just as long as they had better security than the last one.

There was this pretty brunette lady who always wore red lipstick that was sometimes at the coffee shop Steve went to when he could afford it. (Oh how he missed coffee.) He should go and try to talk to her. She looked kind. Maybe she would spare his scrawny self more than a glance.

He counted to four thousand before taking a sip from the water bottle. He knew that it wouldn't be good to chug it. The doubt that his captor would be returning soon was starting to creep in. Bucky had been very upset. Who knew how long it would take for him to calm down? It was best to keep his meager rations as long as possible.

He fell asleep at some point. Steve didn't remember it happening. He had sat back down by the sink and closed his eyes, sure, but he didn't really feel rested, nor could he recall any dreams. But he had a slight headache and his back was stiff. It was frustrating that he had no way to tell how much time had passed. There was no window in here and Bucky had left the light on. It could have been minutes or hours. 

He counted to six thousand and thirty two when his stomach started to growl. Was it breakfast or dinner time? He had become used to his two daily meal times over the past few weeks. He stood and sighed at the lone can of soup. How was he supposed to use this sparingly? He decided to wait a bit longer. Surely Bucky would be back in time to give him more.

One thousand, eight hundred and ninety seconds later had his stomach growling more and more. Steve  
knew he needed to eat. It was starting to become painful. No point in waiting any longer, he guessed. It wouldn't be good if Bucky came back to find him dead from starvation. The man could probably glare him back to life, anyway.

Steve was grateful that the can could be hand opened. He would have thought that canned soup would put him off by now, Bucky fed it to him so much. But there was something oddly comforting about the food now. He slowly sipped at the broth, making sure to leave the noodles for later. The liquid would hold him over for awhile. He hoped. He drank a bit more water.

Steve was suddenly glad that Bucky had put him in this room when his bladder filled. At least he didn't have to worry about soiling himself.

 

Eleven thousand seconds went by and still no sign of Bucky. What was the man doing? Was he just going to leave Steve here forever? Trapped in this tiny room all by himself? No, Bucky wouldn't do that, right? The man cared about him to some extent. He would be back soon enough.

Then again, Bucky was a killer. What was different from leaving Steve to starve from stabbing someone in the chest? Maybe he decided that Steve wasn't worth keeping around anymore. Maybe the man was busy sharpening his knife to put the blond out of his misery or digging a shallow grave to hide his body. 

Steve forced himself to relax enough to sleep more. It was the best way to pass the time. He slept lightly and could never get quite comfortable on the linoleum floor. He dreamed of trees and blood and cold blue eyes. He drifted in and out for as long as his body would allow.

Seven thousand and two hundred seconds later, he had finished what was left in the soup can. Half his water was gone.

He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. Goddamnit, he was not going to cry. Especially not for Bucky. Steve was stronger than this. He'd been through much worse. He could handle being locked in a bathroom for a while. For a very long while. Bucky would come back eventually and Steve would be perfectly fine. He might even give his captor a piece of his mind.

He counted to eight thousand before he finally decided to stop. Maybe time would go by faster if he wasn't keeping track of it. He finished the rest of the water. No reason he couldn't get more out of the sink if he needed to.

Steve began to wonder if something had happened to Bucky. Had the police gotten to him? If so, Steve only hoped that his captor would let them know that he was here. Then this nightmare would finally be over with. But what if it was something else? Maybe Bucky had picked a fight with someone who could overpower him and gotten hurt? Or – or what if the troubled man had decided to take his own life? Steve knew that Bucky didn't deal with anger well at all. What sort of effect did sadness have on the man? Did he take it out on others or...himself? The thought made Steve panic, even though he knew it was irrational. If Bucky was dead then Steve would never get out of here. 

So was this it, then? His sad life was going to end in a bathroom in the middle of nowhere because a lunatic couldn't be bothered to come and free him before offing himself. Honestly, Steve had always imagined dying like his mother. Just getting sick and slowly drifting away. Perhaps an asthma attack gone bad or eating a piece of spoiled meat or cancer like Ma. But not something as undignified as this. Alone and forgotten and helpless. Actually, that sounded a lot like dying of sickness. He doubted he would ever make any friends to sit by his bedside while he slipped away. At least Bucky would maybe mourn his loss. He ended up counting again.

One thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven seconds later, Bucky came back.

It had come as somewhat of a shock. Steve had been sitting in silence, curled up in front of the sink and staring at the door, when suddenly the lock clicked and Bucky was standing in the doorway. Steve didn't know what sort of expression he had, but it was enough to make even Bucky look concerned. 

Before Steve knew it, Bucky was sitting in front of him and was pulling the blond into his lap. Steve wrapped his limbs around his captor and clung to him like a child. He didn't even care that he was supposed to be angry at this man, for multiple reasons. Steve was just so relieved that Bucky had come back for him, that he wasn't going to leave Steve to die here afterall.

Bucky squeezed him back. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I didn't mean to be gone for so long.”

Steve didn't reply. He buried his face in Bucky's neck and enjoyed the bodily heat. The bathroom definitely wasn't the warmest room in the cabin and he had gone slightly numb. They stayed together like that for some time. Steve didn't want to pull apart. He felt like he had been stuck in here for a year. He would accept any form of contact right now. He didn't even mind when Bucky began to stroke his hair. He didn't want to feel alone for one more second. Steve was sure that he would curse himself for acting so weak later on, but whatever. He smiled when Bucky held him tighter.

He lifted his head when one of Bucky's arms left him. Steve watched as the taller man pulled his knife out of his pocket and used it to cut the rope off Steve's arms. The skin was rubbed red. 

He couldn't help but frown when Bucky slid him back to the floor. He had been comfortable. His captor gave him a small smile and picked up a plastic bag that Steve hadn't noticed before. 

Bucky handed it to him. “Eat this and then take a bath,” he instructed. When he stood and turned to leave, Steve cried out and grabbed his hand. They were both surprised by the action. Steve had never voluntarily touched his captor before. The blond could feel his face grow hot. Bucky gently took hold of Steve's hand and removed it from his own. “I won't be far,” he promised. “I just need to get some things.”

Steve nodded sheepishly and waited until Bucky was out of sight to look in the bag. Another bottle of water, a sandwich, and even a chocolate bar. Steve's stomach growled at the sight. Bucky hardly ever gave him anything sweet. Despite his hunger, he ate his meal slowly. He wanted to sit and listen to whatever Bucky was doing. He could hear constant movement and an occasional bang.

He only started to run the tub when he heard Bucky shout “Steve, hurry up in there!”

It was nice to have a warm bath after going nearly a week without one. He would have preferred a shower, but he didn't want to go against Bucky's instructions. Steve wanted all the positive attention he could get right now. Besides, there wasn't a shower head.

He sat happily in the water and continued to listen to Bucky's rustling while he washed himself. What was the man doing? It sounded like he was rearranging the whole cabin. Bucky came back into the bathroom just after Steve finished rinsing out his hair. The man was carrying another, larger bag that he placed by the tub. “Get dressed,” he ordered before leaving again.

Steve was grateful to get new clothes. He always liked a certain level of cleanliness and hated wearing the same clothes for a week or more. He pulled out the pieces of clothing one by one and was surprised to see Bucky got him something sturdier this time. A cotton undershirt with a green plaid button-up to go over it, a pair of jeans, and a heavy pair of boots. Steve looked at them curiously. What would he need shoes like these for? Was Bucky going to take them hiking or something? His eyes widened when he pulled out a belt. It was nice to have since the jeans were a bit loose in the waist, but why would Bucky give it to him? Wasn't he afraid that Steve might try to use it as a weapon or try to hurt himself with it? Or did Bucky really trust him that much? 

Steve dried his hair with a towel while he waited for Bucky to return. He didn't have to wait long. His captor returned with a small glass of water and gave Steve an approving glance. He lifted the cup to Steve's mouth. “Drink,” he ordered. Steve knew by now that he didn't have a choice. Besides, he wouldn't mind having a drug-induced nap right now. He felt both physically and mentally exhausted. He was in great need of actual rest.

It wasn't long before he began to feel drowsy. He didn't protest when Bucky carried him to the couch and laid him down on it. The taller man patted his cheek gently. “Just relax,” Bucky said. “I'll be right back.”

Steve practically sank into the cushions. Whatever drug this was, it was different from what Bucky usually gave him. He felt nothing but calm and boneless. It was a nice change from being knocked out. He lazily gazed out the window. The sun was beginning to set. That's how it had been when Steve was locked in the bathroom. Had Bucky been gone a whole day and night? 

Oh well. It didn't matter now. Bucky was back and looking after him again. He hummed a song he couldn't remember the name of as he watched it slowly become dark. 

Bucky came back soon after that. He helped Steve sit up and wrapped a small blanket around his shoulders. Steve rested his head against Bucky's shoulder when the man lifted him up. He didn't even care where they were going.

Bucky took them outside into the almost-spring air. The rusty truck was gone and an SUV was in its place. It was black and the windows were tinted. Steve wondered who Bucky had stolen it from. Bucky opened the passenger door and put Steve in the seat. 

“Be right back,” Bucky promised before shutting the door. 

There was still enough light to see what Bucky was doing. Steve rested his head against the window and watched the man carry two red gas cans into the cabin. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open now. He drifted some and was almost asleep when Bucky climbed into the car next to him. He buckled Steve's seatbelt for him and stroked his cheek. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly.

Steve nodded in compliance. He would be underneath soon, he could feel it. The last thing he saw as they started to pull away were some bright lights coming from inside the cabin.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a nationwide hunt underway for James Buchanan Barnes. His face was plastered on every news station, website, and magazine. Every police station in New England was digging up everything they could on the man. They produced aged up sketches of him and what he would look like with a beard and added weight. They found his birth records and his school records and his arrests records. They had wanted posters on every lamp post and in every government building. They looked for his last known whereabouts and asked if anyone had seen him in their local stores and motels. 

There were no new leads so far. This guy was a master at covering his tracks. Everyone assigned to the case was working nonstop. Catching the Winter Slasher was a top priority.

This was consuming Natasha's life. She had gone without food and sleep for days, it seemed, working on catching this damned killer. Glued to her desk, she poured over any and all information that came in. Her primary focus was finding Barnes' current location. They needed to stop him before he took another innocent life. They were going to take this maniac down this time, she could feel it.

She sighed and went back to the first page of the file open in front of her. It was full of all the places Alexander Pierce had lived in or at least owned. He was Barnes' adoptive father, so it only made sense that the killer might have lived in one of these locations before and could be hiding out there. Well, there was definitely no trace of him in Pierce's lavish apartments in Manhattan or D.C., that was for sure. She was now looking at other places he'd stayed. There was a vacation home in Ireland and a hotel he frequented in Russia. There was a remote cabin upstate and a small ranch in Maine. Pierce had spent his life working in politics, so it didn't surprise Natasha that he had so many places with his name attached to them.

There weren't any airports that had reported seeing Barnes or letting him on a plane, so she doubted that he left the country. A call to the ranch affirmed that he wasn't their, either. So the cabin was the best place to check next. There wasn't an exact address for it, which was odd, but Natasha was sure that she and Clint could find it. It was about a two hour drive from the city, so they had better get a move on. She wanted to catch the killer before lunch.

Right on cue, Clint walked in with two large cups of fresh coffee from the café down the street. There were bags under his eyes that matched hers. While Natasha didn't like to sleep during a case, Clint simply had trouble doing it. Last night he laid on the couch for hours with his eyes closed before finally giving up and helping her go over evidence.

“I think I have a lead,” she told him. “We need to go check it out.”

“Aww, but coffee,” Clint groaned in reply. The man could consume up to five cups on a good morning.

“Clint, they're to go cups,” she pointed out. “You can drink it on the way there.”

“Fine, but you're driving,” he replied with a yawn. “Let's go catch this son of a bitch.”

 

Steve was confused when he first woke up. He had become used to the sight of his bedroom's ceiling first thing in the morning. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a road and trees on either side. 

“Wha-” he started before the events of last night came back to him. They had left the cabin. But why? He turned his his head to look at his captor. “Bucky? Where are we going?”

The man didn't answer. His face was blank and focusing on the road. 

Steve tried again. “Can you at least tell me why we left the cabin?”

Still no answer. Steve would have thought the man was completely ignoring him if it wasn't for the large hand resting on his thin leg that gave an occasional squeeze. 

“Fine. Don't tell me,” Steve sighed warily. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat. The heat had been turned on and the blanket around his torso relaxed him. He wondered if he could convince Bucky to turn on the radio.

Was it bad that he didn't even feel afraid? Well, no more than he usually had since this whole ordeal began. It was almost if he was being kidnapped all over again. He was certainly being taken somewhere against his will, but at least this time he knew who was taking him. He had an idea of what to expect. Did Bucky have some other safe house they were going to? Was Bucky going on another country-wide killing spree and taking Steve along for the ride? Was he turning himself in? Steve would just have to wait and find out.

They stayed on the same road for awhile. Steve had no clue where they were, but they never came across another car. Steve thankfully didn't have to piss, but his stomach had begun to grumble. If Bucky heard it, he showed no sign of it. The clock on the dashboard read noon in neon colors when Bucky suddenly turned the car to the left and onto a dirt path that Steve hadn't noticed. Bucky must have been this way before. 

Bucky drove down the narrow path until they reached a small clearing. It was about the size of a suburban backyard. Bucky turned off the engine and reached up to rub at his eyes. He must have drove all night. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, just as quiet.

“Come on.” Bucky opened his door and slid out of his seat.

Steve stayed in his until Bucky walked around and gently tugged him out. The mid-day air was warm so Steve slid the blanket off his shoulders. Bucky brought him to the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk. The large space was occupied with cases of water and boxes and cans of nonperishable food. There were extra blankets and a first-aid kit. A long brown case was laying across the back.

Bucky reached in and and selected a box of Pop-Tarts. He handed a silver pack to Steve and took one for himself. Steve spread his blanket on a patch of grass and sat down to eat. Bucky was still standing by the car, staring off into the air. 

Steve didn't like it when his captor did that. He much preferred it when the man was alert and more predictable. “Bucky?” he called.

The taller man's head whipped toward him, his expression wide-eyed like a surprised child. It was almost cute. Steve smiled slightly and patted the spot next to him. Maybe he could get some information from his captor in his sleep deprived state. Bucky slowly came over and sat down close to him. He said nothing and started to eat. Steve did the same and waited in silence for a few moments. He knew that it wasn't easy to get Bucky to open up. The man might be in a better mood after he'd eaten.

Bucky tossed the empty wrapper aside and leaned against Steve's side, who did his best to support the man's weight. Okay, he seemed vulnerable at the moment. Better strike while the iron is hot.

“Bucky?” he tried again, keeping his voice soft.

“Hmm?” Bucky was gazing off to the side again. He put an arm around Steve and pulled him closer.

Steve hesitated before slowly reaching up and taking hold of his captor's chin. The man flinched slightly but didn't pull away. Steve turned Bucky's face toward him.

“Bucky, can you tell me why we left the cabin?” he asked again.

Bucky avoided eye contact with him. Steve thought he saw the man's lips tremble. 

“Please, Buck.” Maybe giving him a nickname would get him to talk. At this point, Steve knew that building a sense of trust between them would be beneficial. Steve was already to begin more free and he wanted more of of it. This was the longest he'd been outside in a long while and he definitely didn't want to be caged up again.

Bucky sighed heavily and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a curled up newspaper and wordlessly handed it to Steve. The blond raised an eyebrow but unrolled the paper. The date was set for two days ago. His eyes widened when he saw the front page. Bucky's picture was on the front! The man in the picture looked younger and had shorter hair (Steve was right, he was a looker) but it was definitely his captor. He quickly read the article.

 _There has been a huge break in the “Winter Slasher” case_ , it read. _Detective Clint Barton of the NYPD discovered a piece of the the killer's DNA at the scene of the Brooklyn office killings that occurred last month. The killer has been identified as one James Buchanan Barnes_ – so that was his full name – _the adopted child of Senator Alexander Pierce. Barnes disappeared from public view after being arrested at 19 for assaulting the senator. Barnes has been known to act withdrawn and violent if provoked. If you encounter this man, please do not approach him and call your local police department. The NYPD would like to remind the public that this man is very dangerous and very clever. Police everywhere are now on the look out for him and encourage everyone to stay safe. “We're investigating every lead,” Chief Nick Fury promises. “We won't let this sick man be a danger to anyone anymore. We have our finest on the case.”_

Steve didn't know why he felt so ashamed at how how hopeful the article made him feel. If everyone was looking for Bucky, then they would eventually find him, right? And that meant that Steve would finally be rescued. He would finally be allowed to return to a normal life. Not that he had much of a life, but - 

Bucky whimpered quietly. The sound reminded Steve of a wounded animal. The smaller man instantly felt bad, even though he knew he shouldn't. Bucky acted like he needed Steve's companionship, and the blond had to admit it was kinda sorta nice to be wanted. He just wished the situation was completely different. 

“Is this why we left? Because they're looking for you?” he asked. He tried to make eye contact with the man.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. “I can't let them find us, Steve. Those people aren't nice. And they'll just take you away from me.”

 _Can't have that, now can we?_ , Steve thought bitterly. But the paper did say that his captor had been in jail before. Maybe he hadn't had a good experience. And Bucky had been adopted? What happened to his family?

“That's not all, is it?” Steve asked. “You wanted to leave before you saw this was printed, didn't you? You were upset by something...” He decided it was best not to bring up Bucky's Birthday Freak Out, as he referred to it. 

Bucky nodded and wrapped his other arm around the blond. Steve could feel the man tremble against him. “I couldn't stay there anymore,” Bucky whispered. “ _He_ used to keep me there.”

“Who's 'he'?” Steve inquired.

“ _Pierce_ ,” Bucky hissed. “That-that bastard! He- he- he used to hurt me. Used to just leave me alone there and then show up and -” The man broke off and took a few deep breaths. His grip on Steve tightened.

Steve felt like his heart had dropped into his stomach? Had Bucky been abused? And if so, how badly? Bad enough to make him the deranged killer he was today? He felt pity swell up inside of him. Slowly and carefully, he brought his arms around Bucky and held him back. He couldn't imagine a parent being so cruel to their child, adopted or not.

“Hey, it's alright,” he soothed. “He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe.”

Bucky let out a dark sounding chuckle. Steve looked up to see the twisted grin on the man's face. His eyes shown with vindictive glee.

“I know he can't hurt me anymore,” Bucky stated. “I made sure of it. I killed him.”

 

“Are we there yet?” Clint whined.

Natasha sighed and resisted the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel. “For God's sake, Barton. We're getting close. Stop your crying already. We've only been in the car for a few hours.”

Clint mouthed 'only' sarcastically. “You sure there weren't any specific instructions for this place? 'Cabin in the woods' is pretty vague.”

“It's the best we have,” Natasha assured him for the fifth time. “Pierce must have wanted his privacy.”

Clint huffed and leaned back in his seat. He hated long car trips. He looked out his window for a moment and shot up. “Hey, there's a dirt path! Turn down there.”

Natasha made the sharp turn to the right and smirked when Clint complained about having whiplash. There were dozens of roads like these throughout the woods, but ol'Hawkeye had good instincts when it came to these sorts of things. It took over twenty minutes,but they finally found what they came for. Or at least what was left of it.

In the middle of a clearing were the remains of a wooden cabin. Half of it had collapsed in and the rest was charred black. Natasha was stunned as she drove up and got out of the car.

Clint followed suit. He let out a low whistle. “Looks like he knew we were coming.”

Natasha was furious. They had come so close to catching the bastard and he had escaped them again! She kicked a nearby burnt plank across the field. “I can't believe this! He must have seen himself on the news and ran for it.”

Clint was looking around the front of the incinerated cabin. “There are tire tracks over here,” he said. “Can't be more than a couple of days old.”

“Maybe he's not too far then.” Natasha took out her radio. “I'm calling for backup. We need to have this place swept for any and all evidence stat. We are not losing Barnes again.”


	9. Chapter 9

_He was huddled up in the corner of his bedroom, shaking with fear. God, he hated the weekends. It meant that he was stuck in this damned cabin for two-and-a-half whole days with_ him. 

_Bucky tried his best to be good, he really did. He payed attention to his teachers and didn't make any noise and didn't bring any attention to himself, just like he was told. Not that anyone was ever interested in talking to him. The other kids avoided him like the plague. Bucky didn't know why. The kids liked him at his old school. But at the one he made him go to no one seemed to want him around. Said he wasn't “their kind.”_

_Despite the orders to keep his head down, Bucky still tried to make friends. At least at first. (He was so, so_ lonely. _) But his attempts to chat with the boy at the desk next to him or the girl sitting next to him at lunch never went well. They always looked at him like like he was something gross and turned away. It made Bucky want to cry, but he couldn't do that. They would only hate him more, and it wasn't Allowed by_ him. _Crying was annoying. Crying was weakness. So he ignored their ugly looks and their hurtful words_ (Freak. Weirdo. Loser. Geek.) _and kept to himself._

 _Unfortunately for him, his best was never good enough anymore. He remembered just a few ago years ago when his mistakes would be looked over or forgiven with a smile and a hug. A time when no one was mean to him. That seemed like a long time ago now. It didn't take much to make_ him _angry. Bucky could do something as simple as get a stain on his school uniform jacket or absentmindedly chew on his fingernail and he would get Punished for it._

 _But he had done something worse this time._ He _said that Bucky couldn't get a grade lower than a B in anything. And Bucky really, really tried. But math was kinda hard sometimes and he really tried but he got a D on a pop quiz. His teacher always called parents when a student got a low grade and Bucky knew he was in big trouble_. He _would arrive any minute now and_ he _would be angry._

_Bucky stayed in the corner for what seemed like a long while. When he heard the front door open, he started to tremble. He curled up tighter when he heard footsteps approaching and let out a small whimper. No, No. Crying was Bad._

That didn't stop him from crying out when the door was flung open. He was standing in the doorway, looking at the Bucky the way the kids at school did. It made him feel like nothing. 

_Maybe he was. That's what everyone kept telling him._

He _came toward him and seized his arm, pulling Bucky to his feet. He cried out again and was rewarded with a smack to his cheek. Bucky choked back a whimper. That would just get him in more trouble._

He _tightened his grip on Bucky's small arm and leaned down. “Your teacher called me and said that you did bad in class today.”_

_“Y-yes, Sir,” Bucky admitted. He forced himself to look at him, not wanting to anger the man further._

_Another blow hit his face. The force caused him to fall backwards to the floor. Bucky couldn't hold back a pained sob when a kick was delivered to his stomach._

_“You little brat!”_ he _yelled. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”_

_“No, Sir, no,” Bucky choked out. Tears began to leak from his eyes as another kick was delivered._

_“Stop your damn crying! Be a man for once!”_ he _continued._ He _grabbed Bucky by the collar and hauled him to his feet. “Honestly, after all I've done for you! You can't even pass a simple math quiz! How stupid are you?”_ He _pushed Bucky back down and kicked his shin. “A stupid kid like you wasn't worth taking in. Do you think that school is cheap? It's all wasted on you. I wish that I had left you in that filthy orphanage!”_

_As blow after blow was delivered to his small body, Bucky wished the same thing._

 

Bucky woke with a start. 

His muscles felt tense, ready to spring into action so he could defend himself. He took deep, calming breaths as he took in his surroundings. No, he wasn't in that damn cabin anymore. (Should have burned it down _years ago_.) No, he was outside and in peaceful nature. Hiding out once again with a dead man's car and a month's worth of provisions and – and _Steve_.

Bucky quickly looked around to locate his small companion. It wouldn't be good at all if Steve was alone in the woods somewhere. He was so small and fragile, who knew what could happen to him? 

He relaxed when he spotted the blond a few feet away. Steve was leaning against the trunk of an oak tree and drawing on a cheap sketchpad that Bucky picked up at the last store he went to. The brunet smiled a bit at the sight. He had selected the item on a whim, thinking that it might keep Steve occupied while they were on the road. He was more than glad that the blond was enjoying it. If he was happy then he wouldn't try to leave Bucky. (Not _again_.) Bucky was doing his best to prevent that, anyway. Had been since he first brought the smaller man home with him. Steve needed to learn what was good for him and until then Bucky would have to continue to force him to stay safe. 

He sighed and cuddled further into the blanket he was laying on. The sun was starting to set. Bucky had trained himself to go a long time without sleep, but after driving for an entire night and half a day, he decided to take a nap. He would need to rest to continue the journey. He didn't have any real destination in mind but he knew plenty of places where they could hide out. Places he had found over a lifetime of running.

He had been unpleasantly surprised when he discovered his name was all over the news. That had never happened before. He was always so careful, had taught himself to be careful. Bucky knew that they would now be looking for him, but there was no way he would let them find him. He had been to jail before and he had not liked it one little bit. No, no, they were too mean in there. Not that he wasn't used to being treated harshly, but he was trapped in a cage there...and couldn't run away. Not like he could out here. As long as he kept moving and hiding, nobody could hurt him.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt him anymore. 

He turned his gaze back to Steve. From the moment he laid eyes on the blond, Bucky knew that he had to have him. He wasn't sure what for. The small man didn't seem like anything special. But he was different from the other men Bucky had killed that night. It was all in those pretty blue eyes of his. The other men had been frightened of him, and one had tried to fight back. Steve had tried to fight back, too, but he had been no match for Bucky's strength. And instead of the fright or hatred or disgust Bucky was used to seeing, Steve's eyes were full of _defiance_. It was if he were daring Bucky to end his life. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt himself wanting another person. He had stopped trying to make friends a long time ago, learned and accepted that nobody wanted him as a friend, but he could try to get Steve to be his friend. Maybe Steve didn't have any friends, either. 

His resolve to take the blond strengthened when Bucky carried his limp body out to the truck. Steve was so small and light in his arms, Bucky didn't want to put him down. It felt so, so nice to hold another body close to his and not have to shed any blood. He briefly wondered if this was what holding a kitten felt like.

Of course, Steve hadn't acted too friendly toward him at all when they arrived home. The smaller man had been hostile and angry and kept shouting at him. And Bucky couldn't stand yelling. It brought back terrible, awful memories. It brought him right back to the frightened child he used to be. He would shut down and stop talking. Not a good way to start a new relationship. But even if Steve didn't yell, Bucky knew he wasn't good company. He didn't know how to talk to people anymore. Didn't want to and didn't want to have to. Besides, he couldn't trust Steve at first. Not to run away ( _which he did_ ) and not to try and attack him. Not that he thought the blond was a threat, but Bucky always attacked back when he was threatened and he didn't want to kill his new companion. So he had to be strict and make sure Steve knew that he had to stay with Bucky now, that Bucky was going to take care of him. Steve had stayed resistant for a long time, but now the blond was starting to like him, it seemed. It made Bucky smile. It had been so, so long since he'd had a real friend. 

Bucky noticed a change in himself, too. He had intended to take care of Steve from the start, but overtime it became less of a chore and more of an enjoyment. He felt needed, like he was doing something good for once. Caring for Steve made him forget about his problems, at least for a while. If he was uncertain at first, he knew for sure now that he was never going to let Steve leave him. 

“Bucky?”

He looked back to Steve. The blond's voice was soft, which meant that he was in a kind mood. Bucky enjoyed those more than anything. It meant that Steve wouldn't be mean to him. He quickly crawled over to his companion's side. Steve inhaled sharply when Bucky laid his head against the smaller man's chest. Bucky enjoyed the sound of Steve's heartbeat. The steady rhythm was soothing. Listening to it helped Bucky relax. Every so often it would speed up, like a startled rabbit hopping away, which was weird. Steve seemed fine, though, so he didn't ask about it. Bucky closed his eyes and counted the beats. One, two. One, two. One, two...

“Bucky?” Steve asked again.

“Hmm?” Bucky could feel himself start to drift off again. He sighed happily when he felt Steve's hand touch his cheek. 

“Bucky, it's getting dark.”

He frowned and opened his eyes. Steve was right. There was still enough light to see, but it would be gone in about half an hour. They would have to get back on the road soon. It was safer to travel at night. Not as many people were out and the dark color of their vehicle would be harder to see. Main highways and cities would have to be avoided for a time. The police never looked as hard in small towns and he wanted to avoid those damned road stops. “Checking for drunk drivers”, his ass.

He took out his knife and cut the cable wire that had been around Steve's ankles. It didn't look like they had been moved or pulled at. He smiled softly. That meant Steve hadn't tried to leave him while he slept.

He offered his hand to help the blond up. “Come on,” he ordered. “We need to keep going.”

Steve took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. He clutched the sketchbook to his chest with his free arm. How cute. “Where are we going?” he asked, looking hopeful for answer.

Bucky shrugged in answer. He didn't know and he didn't really care. He had everything he wanted and needed with him already.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual. I'm buried under school work.

They had been out in the forest for a few days now.

Steve didn't know how long Bucky planned to stay away from civilization. The most Steve had seen of other people had been the occasional secluded home and convenience store. With all the supplies in the back, there was no need to stop anywhere. And so Bucky remained his only human contact. Steve supposed he wouldn't get much out of contact with strangers, anyway. He never did. They always exchanged pleasantries and and then never thought about the other again. At least he knew Bucky, kinda. He was used to the man's company. And he knew that Bucky liked having him around for some reason. 

Nights were always spent on the road. Bucky drove while Steve slept. Bucky had brought along the pills he always gave to Steve so the blond would sleep through the dead of night. It was still odd to wake up in the mornings and be in the car instead of his bed in the cabin. He didn't much like being in either place, but at least the bed had been more comfortable to rest on. Being in a car seat for hours on end was starting to do a number on his back.

Steve found that he missed the stability of the cabin, but he certainly didn't miss being tied up all day. Out here, Bucky only tied him when the man needed to sleep. Guess he still didn't trust Steve fully. Not that the blond really blamed him. Steve knew that he would bolt if he thought he had the chance. A part of him felt guilty for wanting to leave Bucky. He knew that he was the man's only company. But the bigger, more rational part knew that he would never be completely safe with Bucky. It was for the best that he got away from the man.

Steve found that he had developed an odd sort of fondness for his captor. Maybe it was because the closest thing to a relationship he had with someone since his mother died, but he found that he was no longer really afraid of Bucky. Always cautious and careful around him, but not afraid. At this point, if he died, he died. But somehow Steve doubted that was going to happen. He had become used to Bucky and his quirks and habits, no matter how insane they were. 

This past day had been going like the past few. They were parked in a small meadow somewhere, surrounded by trees. Steve was propped up against a tree, ankles bound and sketchpad in hand. Bucky was fast asleep on a blanket nearby.

Bucky looked oddly peaceful when he wasn't conscious. He lacked his ever present glare or scowl. It made him look younger, almost approachable. Steve found himself sketching the man's still form more than once. He smiled when he started to add the patch of flowers his captor was lying next to. The scene was so innocent looking that it was funny. He wondered what would happen if he put some of the flowers in Bucky's long hair. (He would get scowled at, that's what.)

The air was thankfully warm, but there was a cool breeze that kept kicking up. A particularly strong gust came at Steve, ruffling his hair and his paper. He grumbled in annoyance. It was hard to focus when that kept happening.

A sense of dread went through him when he felt a sudden pressure in his chest. _Oh no_. There must have been some pollen in the air. That meant - 

He brought a hand to his mouth just when he started to cough. Fuck. He had gone all this time without his asthma bothering him. Why did it have to kick up now? He doubled over in pain. He knew from experience that the coughing would last a long while if he didn't use an inhaler. There had been some points in his life where he couldn't get to one in time (thank you public school system) and it never ended well. He had been hospitalized a few times when he was younger due to a few bad attacks.

He hit his chest with his fist in an attempt to get the coughing to stop for a moment. He only managed to get a few small, wheezing breaths in at a time. Sweat starting to form on him from the stress.

“Steve?”

He opened his eyes enough to see Bucky sitting up and looking at him. The man looked confused, his mouth hanging slightly open. “What's wrong?”

Steve wished that he could answer. He doubted that Bucky knew what to do in this situation. Another fit took hold of him. He could feel his neck muscles start to constrict. He could do nothing but hack into his hands.

Bucky crawled over to him. He moved Steve's hands out of the way. The blond turned his head so he wouldn't be coughing right in his captor's face. 

“What's wrong?” Bucky demanded again. “Are – are you sick?”

Steve did his best to explain. “I-I-” There was no way he would be able to communicate properly like this. It was all he could do to gather enough breath to utter one word. “ _Inhaler_.”

Bucky looked at him blankly for a few moments. Damn. Did the man forget what that was? Did he even bring it with them? Steve knew he was going to be in bad shape if this continued for much longer.

He felt himself being scooped up. Bucky walked quickly with him – he couldn't focus on where. He heard a car door open and he was placed on the seat. He felt Bucky lean over him and heard the sound of a zipper. He opened his bleary eyes enough to see Bucky frantically rummaging through a black duffel bag. It looked to be full of clothes. Bucky's, probably. 

His heart leapt with joy when Bucky pulled out his inhaler from the bottom of the bag. The man looked at it with confusion, still not sure what to do. He awkwardly held it out to the smaller man.

Steve eagerly snatched it away and placed the nozzle in his mouth. He pushed the plunger and almost cried with relief when the medicine hit the back of his throat and went into his lungs. It took a few moments for the coughing to cease. Steve breathed heavily before taking another dose. He slowly felt the burning in his lungs fade and his muscles relax. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. These fits were always exhausting.

He became aware of Bucky touching him. The man's hands were fluttering over him, as if not sure where to rest. Steve caught his breath and almost enjoyed the light touches on his face and arms and chest. They kept him grounded.

His eyes snapped open when he heard Bucky whimper. The man was leaning close to him. Steve was surprised to see how distressed Bucky looked. His blue eyes were wide and wet and his lips were trembling. He looked like a frightened puppy to Steve. 

“Hey,” Steve croaked. “I'm alright.” Or he would be, anyway.

Bucky didn't looked convinced. He finally placed one hand lightly on Steve's chest and the other on his cheek. “What happened?” he spoke quietly, like a spooked kid.

Steve took a few breaths before answering. “I-It was an asthma attack.”

“Asthma?” Bucky echoed. His brow furrowed.

“Yeah, it's where -”

“I know what it is,” Bucky interrupted. He smoothed Steve's hair back. “I should have guessed that when I saw your inhaler. I just didn't think...”

Bucky actually sounded guilty. Hell must have been freezing over.

Bucky reached into the back and pulled out a bottle of water. Steve suddenly realized how thirsty he was. He tilted his head back slightly and allowed Bucky to hold the bottle to his lips. He had Steve drink half of it before putting the bottle to the side. 

Steve wasn't prepared for Bucky pulling his small frame onto his lap. Bucky pushed Steve's head to rest on his broad shoulder before wrapping his arms tightly along the blond. Steve didn't mind. He was far too used to Bucky holding him at this point. Besides, he was too tired to move. 

“I'm sorry,” Bucky murmured.

“Wasn't your fault,” Steve replied. He shut his eyes again and let himself relax. Bucky's body heat felt so nice. “It happens all the time.”

“I have some Advil,” Bucky informed him. “Do you need any?”

“No, I'll be fine in a bit,” Steve assured his captor.

Bucky's fingers tapped anxiously against his back. He must be feeling out of control. And maybe helpless. Which he was, as he obviously wasn't an asthma expert. Steve relaxed further when Bucky started to move his hand slowly up and down his back. Just a week ago, Bucky's touch would have repulsed him, but now it was oddly comforting. 

He was just about to drift off when he heard Bucky whispering. “I'm gonna take care of you Steve...not gonna happen again...promise...”

 

Natasha rested her head against the kitchen table and sighed.

She had been working non-stop in trying to locate Barnes. They had searched the area around the destroyed cabin for any sort of evidence. Hell, they had the entire county searched for any sign of the killer. Nothing had turned up. Barnes was long gone, even though he couldn't have gotten more than a day's head start. Bastard knew when it was time to run.

It had gotten to where Fury had actually sent her home. “You haven't slept in days, Romanoff,” he had said. “You need to go home and rest. You won't be able to get anything done if you're basically sleepwalking.”

She hadn't wanted to leave her office, but she knew that her boss had a point. A good night's sleep would do her good. She needed to be at her best in order to find Barnes and lock him up tight. 

Natasha took a look around the apartment she shared with Clint. It was in great need of a good cleaning. Neither of them had spent much time here in the past weeks. They were too busy working. She could see dust starting to gather on the counters. She would have to find time to tidy up around here. Or just make Clint do it. Whatever.

Speaking of Clint, her boyfriend walked in with a bag of takeout. Natasha's stomach grumbled. They had been living off coffee for the past few days. Clint was much more used to that particular diet. 

He walked over and placed the bag on the table. “Chinese take-out ala Clint!” he announced.

She smiled slightly. There wasn't enough energy to giggle.

They ate in silence for awhile, both eager to fill their empty stomachs. Good Lord, Kung Pao chicken had never tasted so good.

She was surprised when Clint broke the silence. “Hey, Nat,” he said around a bite of egg roll, “how you holding up? Really?”

Natasha wasn't prepared for the question. “As fine as I can be, Clint.”

Her boyfriend looked concerned. He reached over and took hold of her hand. “Hey, I know this is rough, baby,” he said. “But you got to take care of yourself.”

Natasha squeezed his hand. “We're all doing our best,” she said. “It's hard to rest when that maniac is still out in the streets somewhere.”

Clint sighed and playfully shook his head. Her heart fluttered when he raised her hand and kissed it. “And you're gonna find him, Nat,” he promised. “I'm just saying that it's okay to take a break every once in awhile. Have you seen the bags under your eyes. You look like a raccoon.”

She smiled playfully at him. “I could say the same for you. But you're right. Maybe we should take Sunday off. Get really rested up. Go see a movie or something.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


	11. Chapter 11

It was raining. 

Storm clouds had been gathering all day. Steve had known it was going to be a big one. They were due for some spring rain. They had left the meadow they had stopped in when the wind started to pick up. It wouldn't be good if they got stuck in the mud.

Bucky had stopped the car on the side of the road when the storm started. The rain was coming down hard. It had quickly become difficult to see out of the windshield. It beat loudly on the roof and slid thickly down the windows.

Steve didn't mind waiting. Bucky had turned the heat on, which was comforting. He always chilled easy when it was raining. Bucky didn't protest when he started to fiddle with the radio. There weren't any good music stations in this area, so he settled on a sports station. He silently gazed out of the window, watching the rain pour down. It was actually relaxing. He finally had time to just sit back without being tied up or having to wonder where he would be in the next five minutes.

Bucky wasn't saying much. Not surprising. The man was staring straight-forward, his expression blank. His only movement was occasionally tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He had looked annoyed when he first realized that the weather was too bad to keep driving, but he seemed to have calmed down. 

Steve wondered if he was getting better at reading the man. He had come to understand some of his captor's little quirks and mannerisms. He could now recognize if Bucky was tense by how he positioned his shoulders. Bucky would bite at his lips if he was worried and they thinned if he was upset. His eyes would either dart around or stayed eerily focused if he felt threatened. He would reach for Steve's hands or hold Steve to his chest when Steve supposed the man felt lonely or scared.

Bucky had been seeking even more physical reassurance from him. Steve smiled slightly when one of Bucky's hands left the wheel and settled on Steve's knee. He put his smaller hand on top of Bucky's and gave a squeeze. He knew that these little touches helped to keep Bucky calm. 

It was so strange how such a gentle touch could feel so intimate. But Steve felt such a gentle touch from a confessed murderer meant something substantial. Bucky showed a lot trust in him from the action. He was trusting Steve with his feelings, which Bucky always kept closely guarded. It made the blond feel a bit safer.

“Are you warm enough?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve answered. He stroked Bucky's hand with his thumb and could sense the man relax.

“I don't like the rain,” Bucky confessed. “It makes me nervous.”

Steve was surprised to hear this. He didn't think Bucky would be someone who was overly concerned about the weather. Then again, he still knew very little about his captor. “It'll stop soon,” he soothed.

“Good. I want to keep moving,” Bucky sighed. He squinted his eyes, trying to see the road clearly. 

Bucky reminded Steve of a caged animal when he was like this. The man was always looking for the closest escape route, baring his teeth at any threats. Steve supposed he couldn't blame the man. If he had Bucky's record, he wouldn't want to be arrested, either. He turned the radio up. Maybe Bucky would be calmer if he couldn't hear the downpour as much.

Naturally, their small peace was interrupted. Neither of them saw the squad car until it had pulled up behind them. Bucky immediately went still. But Steve could see panic starting to brew in the taller man's eyes. He clutched Bucky's hand in his own. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Keep calm.” Dread was already building in Steve's stomach. This wasn't going to end well. But he also felt hope. Maybe _thi_ s was his chance to get away. Maybe - 

Bucky's fingers tightened further when a uniformed man climbed out of the squad car and walked up to theirs. The man was tall. Blond hair. Mid-twenties, probably. He walked up to Bucky's window and tapped on it. Bucky kept staring ahead.

“Bucky!” Steve hissed trough his teeth. Despite everything, he somehow didn't want to see his captor get into trouble. He was torn between screaming for help and sending the trooper on his merry way.

Bucky took a deep breath and rolled down his window. Steve could see his captor's lips trembling. This wasn't good.

The trooper was already getting soaked. “Are you folks alright?” he asked. “Any car troubles?”

“No, we're fine,” Steve answered. He suddenly felt apprehensive. He would try to escape some other time. “Just waiting for the storm to pass.”

The cop turned his gaze to Bucky. It was obvious that the man was tense. The cop narrowed his eyes. “You sure you're alright, son?”

“Ye -” Steve started.

Bucky had turned to glare at the cop. Crap. Bucky looked like he was about to snap at the man when his eyes widened. Steve followed his gaze to the cop's name tag. _C. Rumlow_ , it read. What was special about that?

The cop obviously wasn't liking Bucky's behavior. “Sir, step out of the car.”

Neither of them were prepared for Bucky's reaction. Fast as a leopard, Bucky jumped out of the car and was on top of the man. The sound of a struggle hit Steve's ears.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cried. He had to do something. He couldn't let Bucky hurt anyone else. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and climbed out of the car. The rain would just make it impossible to see out of the lenses. He could still make things out without them. 

Steve quickly ran over to the struggling men. Bucky had pinned Rumlow down and was pounding his face in. The man's cries made Steve's stomach turn. He grabbed Bucky's arm in an effort to stop him. “Stop it, Bucky! Stop!” 

“Go away!” Bucky cried. 

He freed his arm and pushed Steve hard. The blond lost his balance and fell back onto the concrete. He tried to use his hands to catch himself, but couldn't stop his head from hitting the road. Steve thought he blacked out for a few seconds. He soon became aware again, but he couldn't do anything but lay there and groan and let the cold rain hit him. He found the will to move again when he heard the sound of a bone cracking.

He forced himself to sit up and felt for his glasses, which were thankfully unbroken. He carefully stood and ignored the throbbing in his head. He could make out Bucky, crouched over and still. Steve slowly got close enough to see what happened. Rumlow's face was beaten and bloody. His neck was at a crooked angle. Broken.

Steve sunk down next to his captor. The man was breathing heavily and trembling. Steve hesitated before laying a hand on his back. “Buck,” he murmured. “Why did you do this?”

The taller man looked like a feral animal. His long hair and clothes were sticking to his skin. There was blood all over his front. He looked at Steve with wide eyes. The blond quickly realized that this wasn't the time for questions. “Hey, we need to get out of here. He might have called someone before...this.” 

Bucky nodded after a few moments. He finally seemed aware of what he was doing again. Bucky gazed at the blood on his hands and sighed. He stood and pulled off his wet shirt. “Get back in the car,” he ordered.

“What -”

“ _Go_ , Steve,” Bucky repeated. “I can see you shaking.”

Steve was reluctant, but he hopped back into the warm car. Damn, he was cold. He found a dry shirt to wipe his glasses with before turning his gaze to Bucky. The door was still open, so Steve could easily make him out. The man was using his shirt to wipe the blood off of himself. The rain was washing the blood off of Rumlow. Steve watched the red-stained water flow over the side of the road and into the mud. He shuddered and turned away. 

Bucky soon rejoined him. Steve flinched when the man climbed back into his seat and tossed his wet shirt into the back. There were still bits of blood in his hair. Steve eyed Bucky warily as the man leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel. Steve didn't know what to say, or if he should even try to. Any sense of peace and safety he had a mere twenty minutes ago was gone. Bucky had once again reminded him how dangerous his captor was. Seriously, what had provoked that? Was Bucky that desperate to not be arrested? 

Probably, yeah.

“Get changed,” Bucky ordered quietly. “You're wet.”

Steve was in no mood to argue. He obediently crawled into the back and searched for a change of dry clothes. He found another pair of jeans and a warm looking hoodie. Steve said nothing when he returned to his seat. Bucky wasn't in a chatty mood, either. The silence between them was tense now. 

Bucky waited for the rain to let up a bit before driving away from the scene of his latest kill. Steve tried to focus on the on-going game on the radio. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop shivering.

 

It was dark when they pulled up to a motel. 

Steve looked at Bucky in confusion. Why were they stopping? Steve would have figured his captor would want to get as far away as he could before taking a break from the wheel. And why were they here? There were only a few others cars in the parking lot, but even one person around was more than Bucky liked.

His captor sighed and ran a hand over his matted hair. He surprised Steve again by taking out a wallet from the compartment between their seats and pulling out a few bills. He held them out to Steve.

“Go get us a room,” he instructed.

Steve's eyes widened. Why was Bucky doing this? 

Bucky waved the bills impatiently. Steve took the money from him and moved to open his door. He was stopped by Bucky seizing his wrist. “I'll be watching your every move,” the taller man warned. “Get the room, go to it, and leave the door unlocked. I'll bring in our stuff.”

Steve nodded before Bucky released him. He went out into the cool air and searched for puddles in the limited light. It had stopped raining a while ago.

Bucky was putting a lot of trust of him to do this, he knew. Even if the man was watching him, there was nothing stopping Steve from calling for help once inside. But he was so tired, and an actual bed sounded like heaven at the moment. 

The office was brightly lit and smelled heavily of cigarette smoke, but it was warm. The middle-aged man at the desk was doing something at the computer. He looked up when Steve came in. “Can I help you?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“Yes,” Steve answered. “I need a room.”

“For how long?” The man barked, sounding impatient. Steve must have come in at bad time.

“Uh, a few days?” Steve had no idea how long Bucky planned on staying here. Better safe than sorry.

The man selected an electronic key from under the desk and tossed it at him. “Number's on the card. That'll be one hundred and twenty bucks.”

Steve paid and headed back outside. He could feel Bucky's gaze on him as he walked to their room. It was all the way at the end. He didn't think there was anyone in the room next to it, judging by the lack of light and sound.

The room wasn't anything much. Small, one bed. One television on top of a dresser. Two doors that he assumed were a closet and bathroom. The color scheme was obnoxious shades of blue and green. He left the door cracked and resisted the urge to move the green curtain aside. He turned up the thermostat before sitting down heavily on the bed and waited for Bucky to come in. He wondered again why they were here. Maybe Bucky figured they would be looking for the car. Assuming that Rumlow called in their license plate number, that is. 

Bucky didn't keep him waiting long. The man had put on a black hoodie of his own and pulled up the hood. His arms were full of bags that he dumped on the floor. He locked the door behind him and joined Steve on the bed.

The blond stiffened when Bucky's arms came around him. He wasn't in the mood to play teddy bear. He turned to face his captor. “Bucky, tell me why you killed that man,” he demanded.

Bucky didn't look the least bit repentant.“He...it was that name. _Rumlow_. It brought back...bad memories.”

“Like what?” Steve demanded. “If you had just stayed calm, that man would have left us alone!”

“You don't understand!” Bucky protested. “R-Rumlow...he used to hurt me...used to help Pierce...” He ran a hand over where the star tattoo was.

Steve could put two and two together. “Oh, Bucky,” he sighed. The man must have been triggered to attack if that was the case. What the hell had Bucky been through?

“...Sorry,” Bucky murmured.

Steve sighed and rubbed at his temples. This was more than he could handle. “Hey, let's just go to sleep, okay? It's been a long day.” His world had been shattered once again, but at least he wouldn't have to sleep in the car tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

_He was cowering in the corner, trying to put as much distance between himself and his “babysitter” as possible._

_He hated Brock Rumlow almost as much as he hated Pierce. The man would come over whenever Pierce had to be away for more than a few days and couldn't stop at the cabin to make sure Bucky was still alive. Rumlow never stayed too long, but what time he did spend, he used to it make Bucky's life even worse than usual._

_Bucky considered himself lucky if Rumlow sent him to his bedroom and didn't bother with him again. But that only happened if the man had a hangover or a “guest” over._

_This visit was going as they usually did. Rumlow showed up with a few bags of cheap food. He would toss Bucky something and send him to eat in the corner. He would always hunch down and try not to be noticed. Maybe if he made himself small enough, Rumlow would leave him alone._

_He kept his head buried in his arms for while. The only way he knew how much time was passing was by how many episodes of some sitcom were played on the T.V. He would occasionally glance up to see Rumlow laughing at the screen, a fresh can of beer in his hand. Good. Bucky liked it when the man was distracted by something else._

_He had just begun to think he was safe for the night when he was hit by something. He cried out in surprise and looked up to see a half-full beer can laying next to him, its contents spilling out onto the wooden floor. The smell of it turned his stomach._

_“Aw, now look at the mess you made.”_

_He looked up in fear. Rumlow was coming towards him. The man was swaying a bit as he walked. Bucky tried to move away when Rumlow reached for him. This only earned him a punch to the chin that brought tears to his eyes. Rumlow grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. Bucky cringed when the man's beer-scented breath washed over him._

_“God, you're such a little fuck up,” Rumlow chuckled. “It's a good thing Pierce pays so much. No one would bother with you otherwise.”_

_“Please, let me go,” Bucky whispered. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and hide._

_Rumlow snorted. “Jeez, such a pussy, aren't ya? You need to be a man, need to toughen up.” A sickening smile came over his face. “I know just the thing for that.”_

_Bucky cried out in protest when Rumlow seized his wrist and started to pull his smaller body. The man responded by kicking him hard in the shin. Tears spilled from his eyes as he tried to clutch at his injured limb. Rumlow had to drag him into the bathroom. Bucky whimpered in pain when he was shoved into the bathtub._

_“Wait here,” Rumlow instructed._

_Bucky curled up and tried not to cry. What was going to happen to him now? He shuddered when he heard Rumlow rummaging around in the kitchen. He had the worst feeling in his stomach. He wanted his mother. Wanted her to hold him and protect him._

_Rumlow soon returned with somehting clutched in his hand. He came over and sat on the rim of the tub. He dropped what was in his hand. Bucky swallowed when he saw a small knife and lighter. There was also a red ink pen._

_He squirmed when Rumlow rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The man slapped his cheek in response. “Shut up and hold still, brat. I'm doin' you a favor.”_

_Bucky trembled when Rumlow flicked on the lighter and held it to the knife. His sense of dread grew when the knife turned white from the heat. He screamed when Rumlow grabbed hold of his arm and stuck the tip of the knife into his skin. It hurt! Hurt more than all the beatings he received. Tears fell from his eyes as Rumlow began to draw lines._

_He tried his best to pull away. He managed to free his arm and scoot a bit away before the man grabbed his hair and and slammed his head against the wall. “Stupid kid. You made me mess up.”_

_Bucky knew better than to try and move again. There was nothing else he could do but focus on the searing pain in his arm and the throbbing in his head. Rumlow started to hum to cover up the sound of his crying. Rumlow didn't like it when he cried. Said it was annoying._

_Bucky screamed more and more when Rumlow broke open the pen and poured the ink into his wounds._

_“You're gonna love this, kid. Ladies go nuts for tattoos.”_

 

Bucky woke with a start. He breathed heavily and quickly looked around. It took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings. 

Right. A motel. He was hiding out again. Hiding from people who would hurt him. Bucky knew he would have to dump the car and find a new one very soon. What if the cop had called in their license plate number? He cringed when he remembered what caused him to attack in the first place. Fucking _Rumlow_. One of Bucky's proudest moments was ending that man's pathetic life. He almost wished he had prolonged the act. Hearing Rumlow beg for his life had been music to his ears.

He sighed and tried to relax again. The soft breathing next to him caught his attention. He smiled when he ran his gaze over Steve's sleeping form. The smaller man was so cute when he was asleep. It made Bucky smile. He wanted to hold Steve. That always made him feel better, even when the blond wasn't in a nice mood. But he had upset Steve earlier, and didn't want to make him any madder. Instead, he turned over and tried not to shake.

 

Bucky was acting oddly distant today.

Not that Steve minded. The events of yesterday were still fresh in his mind. Every time he looked at his captor, he saw the man covered in blood. He avoided the man as best he could in the small room and kept his gaze fixed on the television.

Bucky was doing the same thing, except he kept his eyes fixed to the floor. None of them had spoken since they had gotten out of bed. What was there to say? Bucky had put them at risk – no, no! Bucky had put _himself_ at risk! Steve hadn't done anything wrong. Bucky was the one who was going to pay for his actions. Steve was going to get to go back home. Well, if he still had a home. His landlord was a stickler about the rent being payed on time.

It was late afternoon when Bucky once again handed Steve money from his wallet. “There's a gas station across the street,” Bucky murmured. “Go and get some food. I need to find a new car.”

Steve was again surprised at the chore. Did Bucky really trust him not to run away?

Well, he certainly proved the man right. They left their room and made sure the door was locked. Bucky pulled up his hood and made his way to their vehicle. Steve didn't look back while he walked to the gas station. He doubted Bucky was going to find trouble in the near empty parking lot.

The cashier didn't bother looking up when Steve walked in. Good, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. He grabbed a basket and started to fill it up with whatever. Chips, ramen, soup, jerkey...

He paused when he came to the freezer section. An entire shelf was full of alcohol. Steve quickly scanned the cases of beer and bottles of tequila and vodka. He shrugged before pulling out a bottle of clear alcohol and adding it to the basket. Bucky had never told him he _couldn't_ buy booze. Besides, he could use something to help him relax. 

 

A half hour later and he was drunk out of his mind.

He had started out slowly, only taking a few sips of the cold vodka. He tried to pace himself by turning on the T.V. to the Yankees game and only drinking when they got a home run. But soon his brain had to be a dick and remind him of everything his captor had done to him since his ordeal began. He began to take larger sips more and more frequently. He had downed half the bottle before he knew it.

Being as small as he was, it never did take long to get shit-faced. He had plenty experience of drinking alone, so he never had anyone to tell him what kind of drunk he was. He laid back on the bed and laughed, being careful not to spill any of the liquor. The room had started to spin at this point. Steve watched the nightstand go past him for the fifth time and held onto the blanket so he wouldn't fall off the bed. Yeah, this was a great idea. He couldn't remember the last time he got to unwind. He needed the Steve Time. No Bucky, just Steve and his good friend Alcohol. 

His stomach rumbled. Maybe he should have eaten something before his drinking escapade. Nah, that would have slowed the alcohol's effect on him. He put the vodka bottle down on the floor before slowly pushing himself up and standing on wobbly legs. He took a few steps toward where he thought he put the chips before he fell down. He curled up on the floor and giggled. Everything seemed hilarious right now. He could forget about his woes for a bit.

Steve stayed that way until he heard the door open. He didn't bother to look up. He knew it was just Bucky. He didn't want the man to come and ruin his fun just yet.

“Steve?” he heard Bucky ask.

It sounded like the man was speaking through a funnel. It made him easy to ignore. Steve turned over to look at the ceiling. The shine from the overhead light hurt his eyes. He shut them and turned his head to the side. He didn't want a headache right now.

Bucky came over and shook him gently. “Are you alright? Steve?”

Steve groaned and pushed Bucky's hands away. “'M fine,” he muttered.

He heard Bucky inhale sharply. There was a small pause. “Are...are you drunk?” Bucky asked quietly.

Steve responded by laughing and pushing himself up on his elbows. He wondered what would happen if he started to pull on the curtains. Like, just pull as hard as he could and see what happens. He started to crawl over.

He was of course stopped by Bucky, the-the-the fun killer.

“Come on, get back in bed,” the man said as he lifted Steve up. 

Steve laughed quietly and wrapped his legs around Bucky to steady himself. He imagined he'd fall through the floor if Bucky dropped him. He relaxed on the bed when Bucky set him down on it. Mmm, it felt so soft. He frowned when the sound of something being poured down the sink hit his ears. He quickly turned and looked for his vodka. Gone. Bucky was fucking pouring it down the drain! That bastard. Steve didn't deserve this.

He did his best to glare at his captor when he came back. His face still felt relaxed so he probably wasn't pulling it off. 

Bucky sat next to him and rubbed at Steve's shoulder. “You should go to sleep,” Bucky whispered. He wasn't meeting Steve's eyes. 

Steve huffed and sat back up. He didn't have to take this. He crawled onto Bucky's lap and straddled him. He braced his hands on Bucky's shoulders.

His captor looked at him with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

Steve squirmed, trying to get comfortable until Bucky's strong hands settled on his hips. Steve did his best to focus on Bucky's face. “Wha-wha'd you do that fer?” he slurred. “I was drinkin' that!”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “You shouldn't be drinking that stuff, Steve. It's bad.”

Steve frowned and pushed at Bucky's cheek. Jeez, it felt rough. “You need to shave. You'd look better.” He ran his hands up and down the side's of his captor's face. His eyes focused on Bucky's full lips. He wondered if Buck was a good kisser. Steve never found anyone who wanted to kiss him. Maybe Bucky had the same luck. Probably had too much blood on his face to attract anyone.

Bucky caught his wrists. “Steve-”

Steve leaned in and pressed his thin lips to Bucky's. He moved them clumsily and quickly against the taller man's. Bucky's lips were softer than they looked.

Bucky made a choked sort of noise and pulled back. Bucky looked shocked and...afraid? What was his problem? Did Steve accidentally bite him? Bucky pushed him down on the bed when he leaned forward again. 

“Go to sleep,” the taller man ordered, his voice unsteady. He ran into the bathroom before Steve could protest. What was all that about?

Oh well. Bucky's moods weren't his problem. He just wished he had been able to finish his bottle.

 

Steve woke up the next morning with a killer hangover. 

He should have seen this coming. But he had been too far gone to care last night. God, the light was making his headache worse. He buried his head under a pillow. When had he even gotten into the bed? He couldn't recall anything from- from-

Oh God. Had he actually _kissed_ Bucky? He moved his tongue around in his mouth, trying to see if he could still taste the man. He only tasted vodka. He suddenly gagged and had to put his hands over his mouth to keep from vomiting. He didn't doubt the motel owner would charge them for that cleaning bill.

He noticed that the shower was going in the bathroom. That must be where Bucky was. Good. Steve needed time to collect his thoughts. What was he going to say to the man when he came out of the bathroom? Apologize, maybe? He hoped that Bucky just wouldn't bring it up. Steve wanted to forget last night even happened.

He laid still and rested his eyes. Steve didn't want to move or look for food. He couldn't handle it right now. He tensed when the water turned off. Great. Okay, he could deal with this. Steve was in the wrong here and he had to own up to it. Even if Bucky was a maniac, he didn't deserve to be touched like that without his consent.

He stayed down when the bathroom door opened and he heard Bucky walk out. The man sat down next to him and shook him gently. “Steve? Are you awake?”

The blond opened his eyes and blushed. Bucky was clad only in a white towel that was wrapped around his waist. Steve had never seen his captor undressed like this. For the first time, he saw Bucky's muscular upper half in its entirety. Seriously, when did the man work out? Guarding Steve and committing the occasional murder couldn't keep him in this good shape.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Steve lifted his eyes to Bucky's face. The man looked good with his wet hair pushed back. And - and he had shaved! Bucky's face was now perfectly smooth. He wasn't unrecognizable, but he certainly looked younger and maybe approachable to people who didn't know him. (Now that Steve thought about it, he had his own stubble growing. He hadn't been able to get Bucky to shave him since they left the cabin.)

Bucky caught him staring. “Do you like it?” he asked as he ran a hand over his chin.

Steve's blush deepened. He remembered what he said to Bucky last night. Was the taller man trying to impress him? “Uh, yeah, Buck. You look great.” It wasn't a lie, but – 

Bucky's lips twitched upward. Steve watched as the man stood and went to the other side of the room to rummage through a bag. Steve was thankful the towel stayed on.

Bucky came back with a bottle of pain killers and a small bottle of water. Steve gratefully took the pills when they were handed to him. This headache was jarring. 

He laid back down while Bucky got dressed. Well, it was now or never. He waited until Bucky crawled up beside him to speak. “Hey, Bucky? Look, about last night-”

He was shushed by Bucky's hand being placed over his mouth. The man was grinning at him. Steve's heart sank. This couldn't be good.

“It's alright,” Bucky promised. “You just...caught me off guard.”

Steve tensed when Bucky scooted close and placed a hand on the back of Steve's head. “Can I...can I have another kiss?” Bucky asked, sounding both shy and eager, like a child asking for a piece of candy.

Steve was so fucked.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve wasn't sure how to act around Bucky anymore.

Over the time he had been forced to spend with the man, he had come to know what to expect. (For the most part, anyway. Bucky was always unpredictable.) They had developed their patterns and understood each others body language and habits. Steve had thought they knew each other's boundaries, to an extent. He did his best to give Bucky space whenever the man seemed to need it. Bucky never had any qualms about touching Steve, though. Except maybe when he knew the blond was angry at him. Bucky could be close to Steve or even be holding him, but he still somehow felt distant, like he wasn't really focusing on the small man. And Steve liked this. It made it easier to deal with his situation. 

Now he wasn't sure what “normal” between them was. Steve had become used to Bucky holding him at night or whenever they were laying next to each other. He wasn't used to a nose nuzzling against his head and lips touching his neck. He wasn't used to a strong hand rubbing his side while he pretended to be asleep and trying his hardest not to flinch when it got dangerously close to his ass. He wasn't used to Bucky's cold eyes focusing on his lips when Steve spoke.

Steve knew that this was his own fault. He should have never kissed Bucky. It didn't matter if he was drunk. He had definitely given Bucky the wrong idea and now he had to deal with this. 

He had done his best to avoid his captor's gaze for the past couple of days. Whenever he did look at Bucky, he could see the man's eyes soften. Sometimes his lips would stretch into a small smile. It made Steve uncomfortable. How did Bucky see him now? He never knew what exactly he was to Bucky. Was he finally the man's not-boyfriend? Did Bucky think that Steve liked him in an intimate way now? 

Whatever Bucky felt for Steve now, it made him brave enough to go and pick up fast food for dinner. Steve had been pleasantly surprised when Bucky went out for supplies and brought back a paper bag full of burgers and fries. (Steve hadn't been allowed out after his drinking escapade.) Steve's mouth watered at the smell. He hadn't had anything like this in months.

They sat on the bed with their backs against the headboard while they ate. Steve turned the television on and tried to focus on it. There were no news reports of local murders or Winter Slasher sightings, so that was something to be relieved about. Bucky must be taking extra care not to draw attention to himself. Steve had been wondering why they hadn't seen anything about Rumlow's death, though. Perhaps they had gone too far away from the crime scene?

Steve told himself it was best to eat his food slowly, that it may be a long while until he got this again. But the burger tasted delicious, even if it was a bit too greasy. It was the closest thing to something actually cooked that he'd had in forever. He gulped it down in five bites, forcing himself to chew slowly. His mother always did say it was better for digestion that way. Steve just hoped this wouldn't end up hurting his stomach. 

He ate his fries slower, popping them into his mouth one at a time. They had already gone cold but he didn't really mind. He glanced at Bucky from the corner of his eye. The man was taking small bites of his own food, not seeming that interested in it. Steve wondered why he chose this for their dinner, then. There were plenty of other options, weren't there?

Steve breathed in sharply when Bucky's arm came around his shoulders and pulled him closer. He was okay with the man's touches when Steve thought Bucky was merely seeking comfort. Now he was afraid that Bucky was trying to “romance” him or something. 

Then again, Steve wasn't sure that Bucky really even knew what that was. He knew enough about his captor to know that he wasn't comfortable with being social. He highly doubted that Bucky had experienced feelings toward anyone before. Bucky had been doing small things towards him, like being extra cuddly or asking for kisses. And bringing Steve new things, like the burger. He supposed this was how people who had a case of “puppy love” acted. Steve had never been close enough to anyone he'd ever crushed on to know for himself.

But it was odd how Bucky still was hesitant to touch him sometimes. He would pull Steve to his chest only to practically push him away moments later. He would convince Steve to kiss him only to pull away and avoid eye contact for the next hour. It confused Steve. Maybe his captor just didn't know what he wanted or felt. But he did know that Bucky had been abused in his past. It was very likely that the man was uncomfortable with, or just unused to, intimate touches. 

And Steve was just lucky enough to be the first Bucky got to try them with. What _did_ he do to deserve this?

Steve decided that maybe he should try to take advantage of this. He had something that Bucky wanted now. Maybe they could start a give-and-take sort of thing. Like, for every kiss Steve gave Bucky, his captor would at least try and act sane for a day. That seem pretty fair to Steve. But really, it was good to know that had something he could sway the taller man with. He just hoped he could utilize it when it really mattered. Somehow he doubted that he could convince Bucky not to slaughter someone by offering a peck on the lips.

He felt guilty thinking about this. What if Bucky was feeling genuine affection toward him? Wouldn't it be wrong of Steve to use it to manipulate his captor? Maybe, but Steve didn't feel like he had a lot of choices. He had to do everything he could to make sure nobody was harmed as long as he was with Bucky.

Steve shrugged out of Bucky's hold. “I need to take a shower,” he announced. “Can I use your razor?”

Bucky pouted at the loss of contact. He put down his half-eaten food and gently grasped Steve's arms. “Do you have to right now?” Bucky's voice was small, like a child who didn't want their parent to go to work and leave them alone.

Steve gave the taller man a reassuring smile. “Yeah, Buck. You know we probably need to leave here soon, don't you?”

Bucky blinked slowly and nodded. “Yeah, we should,” he agreed. “First thing tomorrow.”

Steve wriggled out of Bucky's hold. “Sure. So why don't you start to pack up while I shower? Then we can get a good night's sleep before hitting the road.”

“Alright,” Bucky murmured. He climbed off the bed and made his way towards the pile of bags in the corner.

Steve quietly went into the bathroom. It certainly wasn't the cleanest one he'd ever used, but it would do. Should he even bother locking the door? He doubted Bucky would try to come in, and then he would be mad if Steve locked him out. And it wasn't like Bucky had never seen him naked before. He left it be and turned the shower on to its highest setting. He wished he had asked Bucky what the water was like here. Lukewarm or peel-your-skin-off hot?

He quickly stripped out of his clothes. He had been wearing the same ones for the past couple of days, ever since the Rumlow Incident, and was glad to get them off. He took the (hopefully) clean white towel off the metal bar it was hanging on and then placed his glasses and hearing aid on the sink. He was thankful that neither of them had become damaged. It wouldn't be easy to replace while on the run.

He felt his body relax as soon as he stepped into the shower. It was hot, but at a comfortable level. God, it felt good. He hadn't had a shower since the morning of his last day of work. He stood directly under the spray and rubbed his tense muscles. 

He washed himself slowly with the provided soap and shampoo. Who knew when he would be able to do this again? His mind wandered as he scrubbed at his hair and skin. Bucky was starting to slip up. Steve had never been the one to suggest they leave. What was on Bucky's mind that made him seem to forget his survival skills? Surely it couldn't just be Steve. Bucky had been living this way for a long time. He should instinctively know when a place was no longer safe by now. He had even agreed to travel during the day. Were the police not a concern anymore? Or was Bucky confident that he and Steve wouldn't be spotted?

Steve sighed as he rinsed his hair. Why was this even his concern? He could go home and be normal if Bucky was caught. Bucky deserved to be caught, to pay for all the lives he had taken. And yet... Steve hated the thought of Bucky being behind bars, scared and alone. Bucky had told him that he had bad experiences in jail. Steve doubted the man could handle life in prison. Maybe Steve could go visit him if they ever caught his captor. It would at least give the man something to look forward to. 

Another, selfish part of him never wanted Bucky to caught. Steve thought that maybe, just maybe, Bucky had a chance of being, well, not _normal_ – but not as bad off as he currently was. Steve had a new way to control the man. And as wrong as it felt to use something as simple and intimate as a kiss to do so, it did work. Maybe it would become easier to get Bucky to stop acting like a scared animal all the time. He could keep Bucky calm and away from other people. Steve hated to admit it, but his old life was _boring_. Pointless. Bucky still scared him, but they had grown closer over the past few months. If Steve could get over his fear of Bucky completely, maybe he could start having fun. It did sound sort of romantic, didn't it? Going on the run with someone, making sure they stayed safe?

Steve shook his head to get rid of that thought. This wasn't some stupid romance novel. This was his life, and he was in danger every moment he was around Bucky. Or was he? Bucky hadn't done anything to (physically) hurt him in a long while. Okay, other people were in danger when they were around Bucky. And it should be Steve's job to make sure they stayed safe, right? Or - 

He heard the door creak open with his good ear. “Steve?” Bucky called softly. “You've been in there awhile. We need to go to sleep soon.”

Had he really been in here for long? Or did it just seem like that to Bucky? He sighed softly and turned off the water. He would stay in the shower all night if he could. 

“I left you clothes on the sink,” Bucky said before he left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Steve dried himself with the towel before stepping out of the shower. He hadn't felt this clean in weeks. He put his hearing aid back in before reaching for the clothes. His glasses were too foggy to put on just yet. He pulled on the pair of cotton boxers before reaching for the black shirt. He blushed when he realized that it was one of Bucky's. It engulfed his small frame, making him look even smaller. At least it was warm. He sighed again before exiting the bathroom.

Bucky had already cleared the room of most of their things. All that was left was a bag of food and a change of clothes for each of them. 

“I took it all out to the car,” Bucky stated. Bucky had selected an old blue sedan with dark windows. Steve hoped its original owner was okay.

Bucky had already climbed into bed. The blanket was turned down on the empty side. Steve couldn't help but feel touched at the small gesture. He wanted more than anything for Bucky to be considerate of others. He climbed in the bed and settled close to Bucky. He allowed the man to pull him closer and hold him. Steve tilted his head up expectantly.

Bucky looked nervous, as he always did. He gently touched Steve's thin cheek. “Can I-?”

Steve nodded and moved to meet Bucky's lips halfway. The man moved his lips slowly against Steve's. So far his kissing styles were long and slow or fast and short before abruptly pulling away. Steve didn't have a preference.

He counted to eighty before reaching up to stroke Bucky's hair. The more he could make the man feel loved, the better. Bucky shivered and sucked his lips into his mouth. That was enough for tonight, apparently. Steve rested his forehead against Bucky's. “Let's go to sleep now,” he murmured.

Bucky made a sad little noise and tucked Steve's head under his chin. 

Steve reminded himself that this was going to take time. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to "fix" Bucky, but he could damn well try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Steve musing this chapter. The next one will have more action. Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Sam sighed and shook his head as he exited the morgue. 

It was always hard to see another law enforcer on that cold slab. He had come all the way to Connecticut to look at the body of the late officer Carl Rumlow. Poor kid had been beaten and murdered while on patrol duty. No one had really understood it. Rumlow was reportedly a good guy, always stopping to help people and not a dick in any way, at least while on the job. He had only been working for his department for a year. It was a damn shame, really. The kid was only twenty-four. Or had been, anyway.

It was the circumstances of his death that had this entire county baffled. “This sort of thing” didn't happen around here, everyone kept telling him. No one knew why Rumlow was killed so brutally on a desolate road or who would do such a thing. The man had no known enemies. There was no one in the area with a reported history of violence.

That was what made Sam come here to check things out. He had seen this pattern plenty of times in the past couple of years. This reeked of a Winter Slasher killing. Excessive violence? Check. Small town? Check. Victim was in an isolated area? Check. Act seemed totally random? Check. Sam was almost certain that the maniac had been through this town and was the one who had gone berserk on Rumlow.

Sam and everyone else back in New York were starting to get desperate. They hadn't found any new leads in awhile. No one wanted James Barnes to get away again. Sam personally would love to be the one who would finally slap cuffs on the man's wrists and lock him up nice and tight. This case had kept him awake far too may nights. He couldn't stand the thought that so many people had died by this man's bloody hands.

The only good thing about this was Sam now had an idea of where the man was. Rumlow had been killed three days ago. Barnes couldn't have gotten _too far_. So he was either still somewhere in this state, or in a nearby one. He doubted the killer would return to New York so soon, so he was likely either in Maine or Rhode Island. Small places known for seafood and coastal beaches, not serial murderers. Good places to hide, in Sam's opinion. 

Sam pulled out his phone. He had a few phone calls to make. He was going to have James Barnes' face anywhere and everywhere in these three states, especially in the small towns. The Winter Slasher wasn't going to have anywhere to hide by the time Sam was done. 

“Hey, Chief Fury? Have I got some news for you.”

 

They had been on the road for a few days straight now. Steve didn't know where Bucky was headed, or if his captor really had a plan in mind. All the road signs showed the names of towns that Steve wasn't familiar with. At times it seemed that Bucky was just driving in circles. Steve wondered if he was looking for a certain place. A hideout, maybe. 

This behavior worried Steve. It just wasn't like Bucky to act so sloppy. Normally, they'd already be tucked away safely in some obscure location by now. At least they were still avoiding the main highways.

They were silent for the most part. Bucky only spoke to ask Steve what he wanted for breakfast or dinner (the blond had finally gotten some coffee at a fast-food joint) or if Steve needed to get out and piss or stretch his legs. Steve just didn't know what to say to Bucky. Not that they ever had great, long conversations or anything, but it was starting to bother Steve. Maybe if he could get Bucky to open up, then he could help him with his issues. 

Or trigger the man and get himself killed. But Steve was carefully planning his words.

The only pleasant thing between them at the moment was Bucky's large hand holding Steve's whenever he could. Bucky would keep one hand on the wheel and squeeze Steve's smaller appendage with the other. Steve would entwine their fingers and sometimes stroke Bucky's hand with his thumb. Steve didn't mind. It was helping to keep Bucky calm, and it did feel kinda nice.

Steve broke the silence when they were on their way out of yet another small place. They had stopped at a red light and Steve took the opportunity to look out the windows. He was always looking for new things to draw. There was a little shop right by the street that sold things like flowers and children's clothes. Cute, but it didn't hold Steve's interest. He was about to turn away when he noticed a little sign in a window advertising a Mother's Day sale.

Steve felt his heart clench. Had that particular holiday already come and gone? The sign did look a bit old...Steve realized that he hadn't been paying attention to the date at all. Didn't really feel like he had a reason to. All he knew was that he was still with Bucky and that it had getting a lot warmer recently.

He let out a sigh. Ever since Ma died, that day had been especially hard.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asked, never taking his eyes off the road. The light turned green.

Steve took a deep breath.“It's just...my mom died a few years ago. And-and I usually went to put flowers on her grave on on Mother's Day. She always liked pink tulips the best. I think I missed that this year, though.”

Bucky stiffened. “...I'm sorry,” he said after a pause.

Steve didn't know if Bucky meant that he was sorry for his loss, or that he was sorry for keeping Steve away from home and preventing the visit. He figured it didn't matter. 

This was a good opportunity to try and get Bucky to open up, though. “Hey, Buck?” he asked hesitantly. He didn't want to set the man off. “Can I ask...what was your mother like?”

The grip on his hand tightened almost to the point of pain. Bucky's face was blank but Steve could see his jaw was tense. Okay, time to back track. “You don't have to if you don't want to, Bucky. I was just wondering...”

Bucky stayed silent. But Steve had a feeling that continuing to talk would be the best thing to do to calm the taller man down. “My ma's name was Sarah,” he quietly told his captor. “Dad died in an accident when she was still pregnant with me. It was hard, but she raised me on her own. We were really close. She was really the only person I had to talk to until -” Steve had to stop. He could feel his eyes getting wet. He had never told anyone else about Ma before, besides to answer the usual questions. He couldn't help but get emotional when he was reminded of what he had lost.

“...Everyone always said I looked like her,” Bucky murmured. Steve looked at him in surprise. He hadn't been expecting Bucky to volunteer any information. 

“Her name was Winnie,” Bucky continued, smiling softly. “I loved her a lot. She always gave me anything I needed. She would help me with homework and read me bedtime stories. She always gave the best hugs. Sometimes she would let me have a cookie after I'd gotten into bed.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Steve said. It made him glad to know that Bucky once had someone who loved and cared about him.

“She...was,” Bucky said lowly. He swallowed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Steve placed his other hand over Bucky's. “Buck, please...what happened?” He didn't want to push Bucky too far, but he felt like Bucky needed to talk about this.

Bucky took a shuddery breath. “I-I...it was my birthday,” he said slowly. “I had turned six. I was happy. We were all happy. My mom said I could have any present I wanted.”

He swore and sped up some. They sat in tense silence until Bucky eventually pulled in behind a small retail store. The rest of the parking lot was empty. Bucky placed his face in his hands and breathed heavily.

Steve couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. It must have been extra hard for Bucky, being as young as he was. He unbuckled his seat belt and moved close enough to wrap his arms around Bucky.

Bucky turned to look at him. He wasn't quite crying, but his eyes were red and watery. “We-we were going out to eat somewhere. I can't remember where,” he choked. “And it was r-raining. My dad was driving slowly, I think. And we were fine and then -”

“Buck?” Steve probed softly.

“And this truck came out of nowhere.” There were tears spilling from Bucky's eyes now. “Rammed right into us. I just remember our car being pushed around and then I was in the hospital. My whole family died, Steve...my parents, my l-little sister.” He hid his face in his hands again.

“Oh, Buck.” Steve's own eyes started to tear up. He had lost his mother as an adult, but Bucky had lost his entire family as a child. And then he had ended up with an abusive guardian.

“Maybe if I...hadn't wanted-” Bucky said without lifting his head.

“Bucky, Bucky, no!” Steve protested. He squirmed over to sit in Bucky's lap. He managed to lower Bucky's hands so he could look he man in the eyes. God, Bucky looked like a wounded puppy. “Buck, you can't blame yourself for that. It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky's eyes widened. He looked like no one had ever told him that before. Hell, no one probably had.

Steve leaned forward and kissed Bucky's forehead. “It wasn't your fault, Buck,” he repeated. “You need to just let it out.”

Bucky complied and buried his face in Steve's neck. Steve held him and stroked his hair while he cried. He wished that someone had done this for Bucky when he was still a child. Maybe then he wouldn't have turned out this way.

 

Clint hated being away from New York. He was a city guy. He liked big neighborhoods and lots of people and coffee shops everywhere. Small towns were way to quiet and boring for his tastes. But he would gladly go to the middle of Bumfuck, USA in order to catch the Winter Slasher.

He and Natasha could have left this up to local police, but catching James Barnes had become their number one priority. Their were still plenty of officers at the NYPD, so why shouldn't they go down to another state (with permission, of course) to look for the bastard? Sam was working with the guys in Rhode Island, and Clint and Nat had been going around to stations in Maine. There had been no reported sightings of Barnes yet, but Clint and his coworkers were making sure everyone had their eyes peeled.

He wished that he could have stayed with Natasha, but Fury wanted them to cover as much ground as possible. Splitting up was the best course of action.

He sighed and took another swig of his coffee. He was sitting on a park bench and just watching the townsfolk walk around. He had to admit it was peaceful. The country wouldn't bad for a weekend vacation. Better enjoy this before he had to go back on serious look-out. 

He watched some poor kid get chased by a mother goose for awhile before finishing his coffee and standing. The little local shop didn't have bad java. He would have to go back there soon for more fuel. He stood from the bench and stretched. He was not looking forward to getting back in the car. His legs were starting to feel stiff.

Perhaps it was fate that made him turn around at that moment. A blue sedan parked about fifteen feet away caught his eye. It looked dirty. Even through the tinted windows, Clint could see that the backseat was full of traveling bags. (They didn't call him Hawkeye for nothing.) Okay, that wasn't a crime, but...

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the people on the bench in front of it. His eyes were immediately drawn to the brunet man with chin-length hair. His face was identical to James Barnes' aged-up photo. Matching skin tone, facial features, hair color...Okay, this was definitely something.

But who was the guy sitting next to him? And were they holding hands? At first Clint thought it was a kid, but then realized it was just a short, skinny guy. The guy also looked familiar. Alright, Clint knew this. Blond hair, small, glasses – Oh! Was this that guy who disappeared from the Brooklyn office a few months ago? Clint couldn't remember his name, sue him, but the blond matched the pictures he'd seen of the missing man.

If these people were who Clint thought they were, he had just stumbled across what he had spent months looking for. Just sitting there. In a park. In broad daylight. 

He wondered what the situation was. Did Barnes kidnap the kid? Well, they certainly looked cozy together. And the Winter Slasher wasn't known to take hostages. But Clint knew that appearances weren't always everything. There would be plenty of time for questions later. 

The pair got back in their car soon after Clint spotted them. The suspect looked tense. Did he know he was being watched? Clint got a good look at their license plate as they pulled away. He quickly jumped in his own car to follow them. There wasn't any time to call for back-up. Barnes was as slippery as a snake and Clint couldn't let him get away again.

 

Steve decided that Bucky shouldn't do anymore driving after breaking down like that. He had convinced the man to find another motel to stay at for a couple of days. Bucky needed to rest more than anything at the moment, so he paid for a room and guided Bucky inside and got him to lie down on the hard bed. They spent the rest of the day snuggled up to each other. Steve would hold Bucky while the man cried on and off. In between, Steve would place gentle kisses on Bucky's face while Bucky held him close. 

At Bucky's request, Steve told him stories about Ma. Steve described his favorite memories of her. From when he had played with her make-up when he was four to the first time she had been called to his school because he had stood up to some jerk and started a fight. To when she nursed him through his many illnesses to helping him with his first job interview. The tales made Bucky smile. He relaxed enough to stop crying and place small kisses on Steve's chin. The blond knew that Bucky wasn't ready to tell Steve anymore about himself yet. That was alright. They had all the time in the world for that.

Or as it turned out, they didn't. They had left the room earlier to get lunch and had even stopped to relax for a few minutes in a nearby park. Steve wanted Bucky to get his mind off of what happened yesterday. Bucky needed his mind clear for when they started to travel again.

They had started to gather the dirty clothes they left lying on the motel room's floor when the door was kicked in. They both looked up in shock. In the doorway stood a man holding a gun. 

“Get on your knees, both of you!” he ordered.

“What – who are you?” Steve asked. Was somebody actually crazy enough to try and rob them?

“Clint Barton with the NYPD,” the man answered. He turned to Bucky. “James Barnes, you're under arrest for murder.”

Bucky's expression turned from surprise to pure rage. Oh no. This wouldn't end well. 

Only a few weeks ago Steve would have been happy for this to happen. Logically, he knew Bucky should be locked up, even if he felt sorry for his captor. But now – oh God, now Steve was only filled with dread. No, he couldn't bare to see Bucky being arrested. The man needed help, not prison. Well, okay, he _deserved_ prison, but - 

“I said get on your knees!” Clint repeated. He look to Steve. “Shit, you're a victim here, aren't you? Look, I know you're scared, but just slowly come over here, alright? He can't hurt you.”

Steve wanted to protest, to say that Bucky wouldn't hurt him, but he knew he would just sound crazy to the officer. How did this Barton guy even find them? They've been doing nothing but laying low. Steve felt guilty for this. He was the one that wanted to stop for a day. If they hadn't and just kept going, this wouldn't be happening right now.

“Don't you touch him!” Bucky cried. He was absolutely seething at Barton. His eyes were as cold as they were when he killed the hunter back in the woods. Steve thought he saw the cop shiver.

Steve felt that he should warn this stupid man who came by himself, who obviously thought he was a match for Bucky. No, he couldn't let somebody else die. He had to get this man to leave!

Barton aimed the gun at Bucky's head. “If you don't get down I'm going to start shooting,” he warned.

Now or never, Steve thought. He took a few steps towards Barton. “You've got to get out of here!” he cried. “He's too dangerous -”

Too late.

One minute Clint was glancing toward Steve, looking confused at his outburst. The next, there was a knife buried in his neck. His body hit the floor with a thud. Steve quickly turned to look at Bucky. The man had his arm extended from throwing the knife. Steve didn't even know where Bucky had been keeping it. It looked too big to fit in his pockets. Bucky was breathing heavily and was glaring a hole in Barton's corpse. The carpet was quickly becoming soaked in his blood. 

Steve felt numb. He just watched yet another person be killed by this man he was trying to help. At least he warned the guy, this time. He watched as Bucky snatched up a shirt from the clothing pile and shoved the rest of it into Steve's arms. Steve felt oddly calm. Really, he should have known that this would happen again sooner or later. Bucky wrapped the shirt around the knife handle and pulled it out, causing more of Barton's dark red blood to spill out.

“We need to go,” Bucky stated, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Steve nodded woodenly and quickly followed Bucky out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that I hummed "Another One Bites The Dust" when I wrote Clint's death scene?
> 
> Also, I now know how I'm going to end this story. There really is no ending that can be "happy" imo, but this one won't as bad as it could be. Also, much drama next chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve stared numbly out of the front window of the car. He didn't know where they were headed and he didn't particularly care. They were moving fast, constantly changing roads. Trees and buildings went by in a blur. Main streets and cities were avoided, of course. 

The sun was beginning to set. Steve didn't want it to turn dark. Barton's dead body kept flashing through his mind, and Steve had been vaguely focusing on whatever was outside to keep him distracted. The only thing he would be able to see in the dark was Bucky, which was the last thing he wanted. 

He kept seeing Bucky's knife in Barton's throat, crimson blood spreading everywhere, his mouth hanging slightly open. The life had left his eyes quickly, Steve recalled. One minute they were full of anger and triumph and fear, and the next they were pale and empty. Counting trees did little to block the images out. Steve was reminded of Bruce and Phil: on their backs, bleeding out, a sharp object lodged in their bodies...

Steve wondered how he'd ever forgotten that.

Did Barton have a family? Kids that needed his support? Friends who would miss him and want his killer caught more than anything? If nothing else, his fellow cops would certainly be looking for Bucky even harder now. 

Neither of them had attempted to speak since they left the motel. What was there to say? Steve failed to save another person from his captor. Bucky killed a man in a very public location and compromised their safety. Steve wouldn't be surprised if the police were already on their tail. This was a terrible situation. Even worse than usual.

And Bucky had killed a _cop_. One that had obviously been looking for Bucky for a long time. There had to be others. Everyone knew how dangerous the Winter Slasher was. They would have everyone on the lookout for Bucky, more so than they already were. If Barton could find them in such a small town, then how many other cops were lurking around, just watching for them?

Steve wondered yet again why he even cared. Bucky killing Barton so brutally reminded the blond of what Bucky really was. For the first time since they left the cabin Steve felt truly afraid of the man. Yes, he's had a hard, sad life. But that didn't give him the right to kill like this! Someone at some point must have told him this was wrong...right? But from what Steve had learned about Bucky's guardians growing up, all he could have learned was how to cause harm. That didn't make what he did okay, but could Steve really fault him? Bucky had killed Barton because he was scared. He wanted to escape arrest. That was acting selfishly. Or was it just trying to survive in Bucky's mind? 

Steve knew that he should try to leave. He _did_. Whatever he and Bucky had between them, it wasn't good or healthy. It was doing fucked up things to his mind. Made him actually believe this guy had some good in him. It was a miracle that he was still alive at this point. He would be much better off away from his captor. Bucky needed professional help and to be surrounded by people who could stop him from hurting others. Not skinny Steve Rogers who couldn't do a damn thing against him. 

Maybe Steve should try and find help. If there were cops everywhere, then it shouldn't be hard. He could just wait until Bucky sent him on some errand and ask the store clerk to call the police or start screaming for help in a public place. Bucky would either flee and leave him behind, or kill everyone he could before grabbing Steve and taking him away again. Steve knew that he was in danger no matter what as long as he was with Bucky. He had to find the will to _fight_ again. He had to start kicking back! He had become so disgustingly passive over the past few months. He had always been a fighter. He had to get away before - 

“Stop crying!” his captor barked. Bucky was facing forward, scowling, and glancing at Steve through the corners of his eyes.

“Wha-?”

Had he been crying? Steve lifted a shaking hand to his face and was surprised to feel tear streaks. How long had those been there?

Steve turned his head to the side and rubbed at his puffy eyes. He hadn't cried since Ma died. He had always done his best to not cry in front of Bucky. This man didn't need to see him being weak. Especially not now.

“I said stop!” Bucky demanded. The man swore and pulled over to the side of the road. The sun was almost down.

Steve's fear grew. Where was this anger coming from? Why was Bucky directing it at him? Could he read Steve's thoughts now?

Bucky grabbed the front of Steve's shirt and pulled him closer. “What're you crying about? Huh?” He shook the smaller man angrily.

Steve's hands instinctively went up to grab Bucky's wrist. “Bucky-”

“Are you sad about that policeman? I bet you wish you could have left with him, don't you?” Bucky accused. 

“Buck, please -”

“Shut up!” Bucky cried. He was full-on glaring at Steve now. He looked like a rabid dog about to bite.

Steve tried in vain to scoot away. There was simply not much room to move in, and Bucky was holding on to his shirt tightly. 

Bucky pulled him closer. “Why were talking to him? Why did you go towards him?”

Oh no. Did Bucky think that he had been trying to escape? “I-I just didn't want anyone else to die, Buck,” Steve answered honestly. “I thought that maybe I could get him to leave.”

Bucky snorted and pushed him back against the car door. Steve grimaced at the slight pain. Great, now Bucky was getting physical. This wouldn't end well. 

“You were warning him,” Bucky stated, his gaze making Steve feel even smaller. “And what if he had left, Steve? Do you think he would have left us alone? He would have come back with a whole squad! Did you want me to get arrested? Did you want him to take you away from me?”

“No!” Steve automatically answered, even though he wanted that more than anything right now. Making Bucky even madder right now would definitely get him hurt.

“Then why are you crying about it?” Bucky demanded. His voice echoed throughout the small car.

“Because you killed someone!” Steve shouted. “Again! And I couldn't stop you.”

Bucky looked surprised at the answer for a moment. But then he leaned back in his sleep and let out a dark sounding chuckle. “I've killed a lot of people, Steve, and I'll keep doing it. I thought you knew that.” He reached over and lightly squeezed the blond's knee. “I'll do whatever it takes to stay safe. You're not going to get in the way of that.”

Bucky sighed warily and took his hand off Steve's knee to run it across his forehead. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and murmured “Don't cry over those people, Steve. They're not worth it.”

Steve couldn't take anymore of this. He could handle Bucky when the man was vulnerable, but Steve didn't know what to do when Bucky went into creepy-killer mode. He had to get away from this maniac _now_. 

Without a second thought, Steve twisted away from Bucky and jumped out of the car. He ran blindly into the field on the side of the road. It stretched on for about twenty-five feet before leading into the woods. Maybe there was a farm or something nearby. He could take shelter with someone and get some help. He had to get away from his captor. He _had_ to. He wasn't going to survive like this for much longer. Steve couldn't be responsible for Bucky's actions. He couldn't be worrying about what the man was going to do or how he was feeling. He needed to be _free_ again.

He heard Bucky curse loudly and start to chase him. Steve didn't dare look back. It was fully dark now and there was little moonlight. If he just concentrated on getting into the trees, than maybe he could lose Bucky. The grass came up to his calves and was hard to move quickly through. He moved his legs faster than he ever had before in his life. His life was on the line here. He squinted in eyes in an attempt to see better. Hearing Bucky gaining on him from behind only fueled his desire to escape.

He still had ten feet to go when his legs tangled and he tripped. He cried out in surprise when he went crashing to the ground. He knew as soon as that happened, he was doomed. He quickly pushed himself up by the arms, eager to resume his escape, but Bucky had caught up to him. Fuck, he just had no luck with this.

Bucky grabbed him and flipped him over before sitting on his waist. Steve squirmed under the heavy weight, desperate to get away. Damn, this was going just like last time he had tried to run. He cried out when Bucky's hands wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze. Steve gasped for air and tried to pull the stronger man off of him. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. 

“I told you not to do that again!” Bucky snarled. Steve couldn't see the man's face, but he could imagine it. He knew what his captor looked like when he was angry.

Steve thought that Bucky was still yelling at him when everything started to turn hazy. There was an odd roaring in his ears and he couldn't make out even the smallest thing anymore. His weak lungs burned with the lack of oxygen. He tried to breath through his nose but it wasn't enough.

He kept thinking that Bucky would stop and let him go. Was Bucky actually going to kill him, here and now? It was kind of fitting, though. To be killed scared and alone and ruthlessly like the rest of the Winter Slasher's victims. 

Everything finally went black.

 

Nick Fury knew that he couldn't get too emotional in his line of work. He saw crime and violence and death every day. He had seen officers in his unit come and go over the years, whether they transferred or retired, and only a few had ever died on the job. Fury always kept up a tough front. He wanted to be the rock and leader his squad needed.

But it was proving hard to do that tonight. Dear God, _Barton_. He had driven straight down to Maine when he got the news. He had been in a state of disbelief until he actually saw...the body. Of all the people he had never hoped to see lying on that cold slab, it was Clint Barton. The man had looked so wrong, pale and lifeless and unmoving. Fury half-expected the man to sit up and laugh at him and say this was some sort of elaborate prank. But, no. Barton wasn't going to move ever again.

He winced when he heard a whimper from inside the room. Natasha had run into the morgue not too long after he had arrived. Her face had been pinched and her eyes wet. It had been devastating to give her the news that her boyfriend and partner was dead. Fury had gone into the hallway to give them some privacy. 

He sighed heavily and banged his head against the wall. He was waiting for Natasha to calm down enough to go over the autopsy report with him. All he had gotten from the doctor was that Clint had suffered a severe neck injury that killed him almost instantly. 

Fury hoped beyond anything that Clint didn't die the way the way he suspected he had. Maybe Clint went for a drink and pissed off the wrong biker. Maybe some dumbass was practicing their throwing skills and Clint had gotten in the way. But Fury hoped to high heavens that Clint had not crossed paths with the Winter Slasher. No, Clint was smarter than that, right? He would have called for back up, let them know his plan. 

...Unless there wasn't time for that. What had Clint been doing before he was killed? Had he crossed paths with his killer at random, or ha dhe located the Slasher and tried to take him down single-handedly?

He had a team going through Barton's car. Maybe he left some sort of evidence behind in there. Fury could only hope. If there was nothing, then they had lost a man and James Barnes was going to get away again.

It was another twenty minutes before Natasha came out. Fury's heart sank at her expression. He had never seen his led detective look so devastated. Her eyes were red and puffy and full of grief. But her mouth was a farm line and her jaw was set. She clutched a manila file tightly in her hand.

“Natasha,” he said “I'm so sorry.”

“I am, too,” she replied. “Let's get some reading done.”

They walked outside into the warm air and found a bench to sit on. There was enough light from nearby lamps to see. He put a comforting arm around the redhead's shoulders while they read over the papers.

“The victim was found on his back,” she read aloud, voice cracking at choice words. “He was found with a large gap in his neck that severed several veins and cut off oxygen. It is estimated that he died within a minute of receiving the wound. Nearly all of the victim's blood had drained from the body by the time it was found. No weapon was found at the scene. The victim was was holding a gun in his right hand, but no bullets were fired.”

She took a shuddery breath and shut the file. “What – what does this mean?” she asked. “Didn't Clint try to defend himself?”

“We don't know what happened,” Fury answered. “We probably wont know until the crime scene and Clint's car are wiped for all evidence.”

He wasn't surprised when Natasha cried out and threw the file down. There was no wind, so there was no fear of the papers flying off. She furiously rubbed at her face before standing. “It was him, wasn't it?” she cried. “James fucking Barnes! He killed Clint!”

“We don't know that for sure,” Fury stated.

“It was him!” Natasha insisted. “That bastard! That fucking bastard!” A look of pure determination came over her face. “I'm going to find him, Fury. I'm going to take the fucking Slasher down with my bare hands.”

Fury nodded. There wasn't much else he could do right now. Besides, he had no doubt she would do just that. “We'll get him, Romanoff. We'll get him.”

 

Steve groaned when he came to. He wished that he had stayed unconscious. His head hurt, his neck and throat were certainly sore, and his lungs burned when he breathed in. He was being held tightly against a hard chest. He didn't have to guess who it belonged to.

He heard Bucky sniffle. Steve opened his puffy eyes and saw that they were in the backseat of the sedan. The moon has risen high enough for there to be just enough light to make things out. Steve didn't want to look at his captor. The man had almost killed him! He didn't know if that had been Bucky's intention and he didn't really want to know. Bucky's hand came up to stroke his hair.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky breathed, voice watery. 

Steve had no doubt the man had been crying, but it was hard to care. Did Bucky really feel bad about what he'd done, or was he just afraid of being lonely? God, if only he had been able to run a bit faster...

“I didn't mean to, Steve,” Bucky insisted. “I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But I told you not to run away from me again. I just lost it when you started to run. You can't leave me, Steve. I need you. I don't want to be alone.”

Steve felt sick. He was both sickened and full of pity. Yes, Bucky did need someone, but why did it have to be him? 

“Steve?” Bucky prompted. 

He didn't know what Bucky wanted. Forgiveness, compassion, another sign that he was still alive? Whatever it was, Steve wasn't in the mood to give it. He felt so, so tired. He feel back asleep to the sound of Bucky's whimpers.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve woke up in the back seat of the car. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was. He always slept in the front seat next to Bucky. Why wasn't he up there now? Steve was laying on his side and facing the front of the car. He could see Bucky's head at the top of the driver's seat. Bucky must have stuffed all the bags in the trunk.

His head was resting on something soft. A balled up sweatshirt, maybe. His body was covered with a thin blanket. There was plenty of light, so he guessed it was either late morning or afternoon. He decided to stay quiet and unnoticed for as long as possible. Steve had no idea what to say to Bucky. He didn't want to talk to or even look at his captor. What do you say to someone who almost killed you? What was their relationship going to be like now? He had the feeling that Bucky was going to less lenient, if nothing else.

It didn't take Steve long to notice that he was restrained. He could feel some sort of wire holding together his wrists and ankles. Bucky obviously didn't want him running anywhere. God, this was like the night Bucky took him from his office. He was even more scared now than he was then, now that he knew what Bucky was capable of. 

He wondered where Bucky was taking them now. Where could an already wanted man hide after killing a police officer?

Bucky reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see Steve in it. His face softened at the sight of the blond. He smiled carefully, as if trying not to scare Steve anymore. “Hey,” he greeted. “You're awake.”

“...Yeah, I am,” Steve said. Giving Bucky the silent treatment didn't seem like a good idea at the moment. 

He tensed when Bucky turned the car in a different direction before coming to a stop. Why were they stopping? What was Bucky going to do now? 

Bucky left the car and walked over the left rear passenger door. He opened it and climbed in, moving carefully in the small space. He helped Steve into a sitting position and pulled the smaller man close. 

“You need to eat something,” Bucky murmured. “You've been asleep half the day.”

Steve felt like he would vomit if he even tried to put something in his stomach right now. It felt like a storm was going on inside of him, and he wanted nothing more than for a life boat to come along and save him. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.

He snuck careful glances at Bucky's face while he let the man feed him a couple packs of crackers. The key to finding out what Bucky was feeling was to look at his eyes. The man was a master of the poker face, but he couldn't stop expressing himself through his eyes if he was really distraught. Right now, Bucky was frowning slightly and his brow was furrowed. His eyes were full of fear and worry and...affection? Steve supposed he shouldn't be too amazed at that. He was Bucky's little teddy bear, after all. Easy to carry around and provide company and keep the loneliness at bay. Any child would be upset to lose their favorite toy. 

His breath hitched when Bucky pulled a plastic bottle off the floor and shook out two familiar white pills.

No, not this again. Steve had thought Bucky was long past drugging him. The escape attempt must have changed his mind. Steve didn't want this again. He was so tired of being helpless.

“Bucky!” he protested. “Bucky, no-”

“Shh.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “You'll be better off asleep, Steve. We're gonna be in the car for awhile.”

Steve knew that he had no choice. His first week in the cabin taught him that much. He obediently swallowed the pills and laid back on the seat. Bucky tucked the blanket under his chin. Maybe he _would_ be better off asleep. He could forget the nightmare he was in for a few more hours. He wondered if he would even wake up in the same car.

He felt Bucky kiss his forehead and then he was blissfully unaware.

 

Natasha couldn't tear her eyes away from Clint's autopsy report. She didn't want to believe this was real, that he was really gone. But pretending was for children. She needed to look at these pages until the words became real, until she accepted this as reality. If she didn't, Barnes could escape again and Clint would have died in vain. She needed to be aware and focused. She needed to focus on what she had lost and use the pain as fuel to catch the Winter Slasher and lock his ass up.

She couldn't suppress a sob from escaping her mouth. God, why did this happen? Clint had been one of the best things to ever happen to her, and he had been snatched away. He was the one who inspired her to go into law enforcement, when she had been young and had no idea what to do with her life. They had gone to the academy together and joined the police department together. Even when they started dating, he never stopped being her best friend. Clint had known her better than anyone else. He had been her support through this case and many others. 

She wiped away a stray tear. Clint wouldn't want her to cry.

Natasha was sitting in her car in the hospital parking lot. She had been here all night. Fury hadn't wanted her to go far. They were waiting for Sam to show up so they could go over what was found in Clint's car together. They were all desperately hoping for something, _anything_.

She had the report nearly memorized by now. It hurt to think of Clint walking right toward his death, of a knife in his neck and his blood everywhere. Why hadn't she _been there_? She and Clint were partners, in every sense of the word. Natasha should have been at his side. They could have taken down Barnes together. She felt like she was on her own now, despite still having Fury and Sam for support. 

There was a knock at the window. She turned to see Fury standing outside, his expression both solemn and sympathetic. 

She rolled down the window. “Hey,” she greeted quietly. “Is Sam here yet?”

“He is,” Fury answered. His eyes swept over her face. “Have you been up all night, Natasha?”

“Can you blame me?” she retorted. “How can I sleep after what happened to Clint?”

He nodded. “I know it's rough right now, but you need to look after yourself. It's what Clint would want. You're too good a detective to lose, Romanoff.”

She sighed and climbed out of the car, manila folder in hand. She knew that her chief was right, but it was hard to focus on her health when she was so full of rage and grief. “Let's go see Sam.”

The sergeant was waiting for them in an empty corner of the hospital's cafeteria, nursing a cup of coffee. He stood quickly as they approached and enveloped Natasha in a hug. “Ah, Nat,” he murmured, “I'm so sorry.”

She gently squeezed him back. “Me, too,” she whispered. They pulled apart and she did her best to regain her composure. It was time to get down to business. They sat down at Sam's table. “So what did they find, Fury?”

Fury took another file out from an inside pocket of his jacket. (How did he stand to wear that thing in the summer?) “The team who swept his car said there wasn't much besides burger wrappers and archery magazines, but they did find something interesting on his phone.”

Natasha felt a pang in her heart at the word _archery_. Clint had always loved the sport and practiced it in his spare time. He would have gone pro if he hadn't decided to join the police force.

Fury took a page out from the file. “They found a message on his cell phone,” Fury read. His eyes scanned the page before he handed it to Natasha. “I think you'll want to read this.”

Natasha read out loud Clint's last words to them. “Hey, guys, if you're hearing this, that means I screwed up. And if so, I am so, so sorry. But I'm, like, ninety-five percent sure that I just saw James Barnes sitting in the park. He looks identical to the aged-up picture, and he had long hair and only a bit of stubble. And he wasn't alone. Um, okay I forgot the kid's name, sue me, but he had that little blond guy with glasses who disappeared from the office in Brooklyn awhile back. I don't know what the situation is, but the kid didn't seem afraid. They got in a car together and now I'm following them. It's a blue sedan with dark windows. The license plate says CN . 9768. I know I should call for back up, but I don't want to lose them. I am armed so I'm hoping I can at least get the kid to safety. If not, I'm sorry, Nat. Love you.”

She took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. God, why did Clint have to be so _stupid_? 

“Hey, he left us with a lot of info,” Sam pointed out. He gently took the page from her to read it for himself. “We know what car he has, at least. And it looks like he has a hostage. Never thought I'd see the day when the Winter Slasher held a captive. It's always a 'wham, bam, you're dead, man' with him.”

“It's been over fifteen hours since Clint was killed,” Fury stated. “That's plenty of time to swap cars. I need to call this in immediately.” He took out his phone to do so.

“At least we have some sort of lead,” Natasha sighed. “The Brooklyn kid – his name's Steve Rogers. He's been missing for over three and a half months now. I can't believe he's still alive.”

“Wonder what makes him so special?” Sam mused. “Maybe Barnes has a type.”

“I don't know,” she answered. “I don't think anyone would ever go with Barnes willingly. But Clint did say he didn't seem afraid. And they were sitting out in a public park of all places.”

“Maybe the kid also has a type,” Sam offered. “Tall, dark, and psychotic.”

“We interviewed the guy's neighbors and coworkers. They said he mostly kept to himself.” Natasha recalled the mandatory psyche training she had received. “Maybe – maybe there's some kind of Stockholm Syndrome thing going on. You know, where a kidnap victim gains sympathy for their abductor? It's a psychological tactic they develop in order to survive. If their captor is happy, then they have a better chance of not being killed.”

Sam rubbed the back of his head. The thought of anyone going through that made him uncomfortable. “If that's the case, Rogers must have really figured out how to make Barnes happy. Poor kid. Can you imagine being stuck with the Winter Slasher for so long?”

She shook her head. “No. Kid must be tougher than he looks.” She felt a bit ashamed that she had stopped trying to find any trace of Rogers a long time ago. It only seemed logical that he had been killed and his body hidden away somewhere.

Fury put his phone away. “I have everyone in this state and the surrounding one's to be on the lookout for the car Clint described. Even if it's abandoned by now, we can still figure out which way Barnes is headed from where he left it.”

“Where do you think he's gone now?” Sam asked. “He's already been around the entire north-east.”

“He would be stupid to go back anywhere he's already been through,” Fury replied. “Maybe he's gone west or south. There haven't been any reported Winter Slasher killings there. He's going to want a new place to hide. Perhaps even a new hunting ground.”

“We have to stop him before he gets that far,” Natasha insisted. “The bastard's already wreaked enough havoc. We'll be failures as police if we let him kill again.”

The men regarded her silently for a moment. Her words were heated, fueled by anger and sorrow, but there was truth behind them. This had gone on for far too long. They needed to step up their game.

“We'll double our efforts,” Fury announced. “We'll put everything we have and more into finding Barnes and making sure Steve Rogers gets home safely.” He stood from his chair. “We won't let Barton's death go to waste. Sam, I need you to get in touch with every police station you can and tell them to be on the look-out.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

“And, Natasha -” his eyes softened a bit. “Try and get some rest, okay?” He took his phone out again and walked outside.

They stared after him a for a moment. Fury always had a way of saying a few sentences but leaving them feeling like they had just heard a speech. 

Sam turned to her. “Hey, Barnes can't hide forever,” he said. “We'll get him soon enough.”

Natasha laughed bitterly. “We've been telling ourselves that ever since we ID'd him. And we still haven't got him. He's like the Houdini of serial killers.”

“He's gonna slip up eventually. Especially if he's been dragging Rogers around with him.” He put a hand on Natasha's shoulder. “We're gonna find his ass if it's the last thing we do. We're gonna make Clint proud.”

Natasha offered a thin smile. The thought of vengeance was going to be the only thing keeping her going for a long time. “Better alert the media to what we've found.”


	17. Chapter 17

Steve lost track of time for a while. It wasn't like he could really help it, though. Bucky was quick to put him back into a drugged sleep whenever he woke. Sometimes it would be day, other times it would be the dead of night. When it was dark, Steve would just lie still until he slipped under again. No point in bothering Bucky at night. The man was always more tense at that particular time. But during the day, Bucky would come back and feed him something. Steve noticed that they were in a different vehicle. Another SUV, by the looks of it. He had a bigger seat to lay on and he could see into the back during the brief moments he was sitting up.

He tried to ask where they were going only once. Bucky shushed him and fed him more pills.

Steve guessed that it had been a few days at least. This was the fourth time he had woken up while it was light out. He made a noise to let Bucky know that he was awake and prepared himself for the usual routine: Bucky pulling over, some sort of bland food, more sleep.

He laid still for several minutes. He felt like he could still feel Bucky's hands around his throat at times. It made him not want to do anything that could possibly annoy the man. (Whatever happened to fighting back?) He couldn't help but be afraid that Bucky would be angry that he was awake longer than necessary, so Steve slowly lifted himself up and looked toward the windshield. They were yet again in a wooded area. No one else around, but at least they were on a paved road. 

Bucky pulled over when he saw Steve through the rear view mirror. The blond tensed some when Bucky wordlessly left his seat and opened the door by Steve's head. His captor had proven that he was still a violent and unpredictable and untrusting as ever. Steve couldn't let his guard down again. Just a week ago, he had foolishly thought that there was a sort of trust between them. That they could be comfortable with each other. How wrong he had been. 

Bucky gently pushed the blanket off of Steve, placed his hands underneath the blond's armpits, and pulled the smaller man out of the car. This surprised Steve. Today was going to be different, after all. 

Bucky carried him over into the grass and used one hand to steady Steve against him, and the other went to his fly. Steve didn't even realize how badly he needed to relieve himself. He had to let go as soon as Bucky had his cock out. He was far passed being embarrassed at this point. He was just glad Bucky was still willing to do this and not let Steve walk around in soiled pants.

After he was finished, Bucky took him back to the black vehicle and placed him upright on the seat. Steve watched as Bucky quickly circled around and climbed into the other side. The man had dark circles around his eyes. Steve wondered how long it had been since Bucky last slept. Had he taken short naps here and there, or just kept driving for several days straight?

His heart beat increased rapidly when Bucky pulled out his knife. Oh God, what now? Was he going to be punished for running now? Did Bucky suddenly decide that he was too much trouble to keep around? 

Bucky noticed his sudden panic. He placed his knife-free hand on Steve's cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “Calm down,” Bucky instructed softly. “I'm not going to hurt you. You know that.”

No, Steve didn't know that. Bucky had already hurt him plenty of times. How could he ever trust this unstable man's word?

Bucky nudged at his arms until Steve lifted them up. Bucky carefully worked the tip of the knife under the cable wire securing them together and cut it off. Steve took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Okay, he was unharmed. But having a knife that close was kinda scary. His skin could have easily been sliced open just then. Did Bucky even have a first-aid kit or anything like that?

He gasped softly when Bucky gently pulled him closer and held him close, resting his head on top of Steve's. Bucky took a deep breath of his own.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured into Steve's hair.

For what? For keeping him drugged up? For almost strangling him? For everything?

“I know,” Steve replied. It was always best to go along with this. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso. “I know.”

Bucky held onto him for a bit longer. Steve didn't mind. His captor's embrace was oddly comforting. It made him want to believe that Bucky really did care about him. Maybe it was just human instinct to feel good when being held. 

Bucky pulled back to look at Steve's face. The blond could see his captor's eyes lingering on his lips. It was obvious what Bucky wanted next. And why shouldn't Steve give it to him? Anything to keep the man calm and content. 

He met Bucky halfway for a kiss. Steve felt his face grow hot when Bucky let out a little moan at the contact. It couldn't have been too many days since they had last touched like this. But for someone as affection starved as Bucky, it must have felt like forever. It started out slow, but then Bucky placed a hand to the back of his head and delivered several quick pecks to Steve's lips. Steve responded eagerly. It was easy to pretend that their situation was different when Bucky gave him this attention. Like Bucky was his really eccentric drifter boyfriend instead of a homicidal maniac that kidnapped him. 

Steve always did have a vivid imagination.

They pulled apart when Steve's stomach growled loudly. Bucky wiped away the trial of saliva that stretched between their lips. Bucky was giving him an odd, sort of intense look. He opened his mouth to say something, but then it snapped shut and then turned to reach into the back of the vehicle. He came back with a box of Pop-Tarts and a large bottle of water. Steve was beginning to wonder how either of them were functioning on this diet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a fresh vegetable.

They ate the small meal quietly and shared the water. Steve found himself wanting a slice of pizza more than anything at the moment. Definitely not healthy, but it would be way better than the bland food and drink he had become used to. Especially after going all this time without it. There were a lot of great places in Brooklyn to go for a cheap price, too - 

He came back to reality when he heard Bucky laugh quietly. The man was looking at him fondly. “You're so cute when you make that face,” he said.

Steve blushed and looked away. He didn't want to know what sort of face he had been making. He pretending to scan the the contents of the trunk and hoped that Bucky wouldn't ask what he had been thinking about. His gaze landed on a long brown box in the back. It looked like it was made from some leather-y material. Steve remembered seeing it before but had never thought to ask about it. He didn't recall ever seeing Bucky open it. 

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

Steve's expression must have given him away again. Oh well. He didn't have _too_ much to lose by just asking. “Hey, Buck, what's that for?” He pointed to the box.

Bucky's eyes widened a bit. Had he forgotten it was back there himself? But then his mouth twitched into a chilling little grin. “Do you really wanna find out?”

Steve had a bad feeling about this, but curiosity won out. “Yeah, I do.”

Bucky crawled back into the trunk and then assisted Steve in getting back there. It was hard for the blond to move since his ankles were still bound. Bucky gripped the tops of his arms and pulled the smaller man next to him. 

Bucky took hold of the handle on the case and tugged it in front of Steve. “Open it,” he instructed. There was something suppressed in his voice. Was it...giddiness? He sounded like a child who was about to show his parent the snake he had been keeping under his bed.

Steve only hesitated a moment before undoing the latches keeping it closed. He lifted the lid slowly, suddenly overcame with the fear that something would jump put of him. Inside the case was a rifle. The kind that hunters used. Shiny brown wood and metal. Not what Steve was expecting to see, but he wasn't surprised. Bucky needed more than a knife to protect himself right? Or maybe it was to kill people from a distance. Steve wondered why he'd never seen Bucky use it before. 

There was a metal container nestled between rifle's nozzle and the left end of the box. Curious, Steve lifted it out to examine it. It almost resembled a lunch-box with its square bottom and more rounded top. There was a small green num lock holding it shut. What could possibly be in here? Bullets?

Bucky wordlessly took the box from him and fiddled with the lock until it opened. He placed it back into Steve's hands. There was a small little grin still on Bucky's face. He obviously wanted Steve to see what was inside of it.

He swallowed before lifting the lid on the metal box. He was confused at first. The box was packed full of newspaper. He rummaged through the stack. What was all this for? He selected a piece at random and pulled it out. It was a small, worn clipping. It was dated for last December. A picture of a man with dark hair and a mustache was toward the top. Steve's blood ran cold as he read the headline: _MAN FOUND SLAUGHTERED IN MOTEL ROOM_.

Steve quickly read the attached article. _Brock Rumlow, 46, was found murdered in a local motel this evening. Police were called when the manager couldn't get Rumlow to open the door after receiving a noise complaint. Police had to force their way inside. Rumlow was discovered sprawled out on the floor. The man suffered from multiple stab wounds and a sliced throat. Reports say that the room was covered in blood. There was no murder weapon found at the scene. Rumlow had no personal belongings with him, but there were beer cans littered throughout the room. Police have no suspects at the moment and are encouraging anyone to information about this crime to step forward._

Ah, so this was Rumlow. He looked nothing like the blond cop that Bucky had killed that day in the rain. What had happened between them, that Bucky would be triggered to attack at just a name? Steve was probably better off not knowing. 

Bucky ran a hand over the man's picture. “This was one of my proudest moments,” he said. “I hated that bastard _so much_. You have no idea, Steve. I would kill him ten times more if I could.”

He tried not to shudder. Did Bucky keep this as a trophy? As a reminder of what he had done?

Bucky picked up the box and searched through its contents for a few moments. He then smiled coldly and pulled out another folded piece of newspaper. This was a full page opposed to Rumlow's small scrap. Bucky proudly spread it out before them. “Now _this_ was the happiest day of my life.”

Steve recognized the man in this picture. It was the late Senator Alexander Pierce. His murder had been all over the news last winter. It had been at the height of the Winter Slasher scare.

His murder had been similar to Rumlow's. Alone in his Manhattan apartment. Body mutilated almost beyond recognition. Blood everywhere. No murder weapon. No suspect. Steve wondered how Bucky got so good at covering his tracks.

“I didn't think he'd actually let me in,” Bucky murmured. “I had been hanging around the Bronx, just trying to lay low. It was...getting near the time of my birthday, and I was angry. I can't remember how I learned his Manhattan address, but I did and I went there. I fingered my blade the whole time. I told the doorman I was his nephew, and Pierce actually let me up. He looked at me like I was the dirt under his shoe, just like he'd always had. He thought that I had come for money. He said I looked like a homeless drug-addict. I think he wanted to see me just so he could laugh at me. He was threatening to have me arrested for breaking his restraining order on me when I pulled out my knife and gutted him.”

He slammed his fist down on the man's picture. “He made my life a living hell, Steve. Even more than it already was. He didn't deserve anything he had. I was doing everyone a favor by getting rid of him.”

Steve just nodded. Bucky seemed to believe that. No point in arguing with him. Besides, he must have really been a monster to make Bucky what he was.

“I needed to keep these.” Bucky gestured to the articles. “I needed solid proof that they were gone, that they had gotten what was coming to them. I-I used to have nightmares -”

Steve placed his hand over Bucky's and gave a comforting squeeze. Why couldn't he stand to see the man upset like this? “Hey, it's alright, Buck. They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe from them.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. Steve could tell that he was trying to calm himself down. Bucky leaned over to kiss Steve's cheek before hiding his face in his hands. Steve took the opportunity to look at the other bits of newspaper. He grimaced as he pulled out two handfuls of clippings. Against his better judgment, he started to count them. He paused to read the names of Bucky's victims and to look at their pictures. He stomach turned as he read one after another.

_Max Ramirez. New York. Twenty nine years old. Stabbed. Found in dumpster._

_Stacy McAllister. Connecticut. Thirty two. Strangled. Found in river._

_Eric Benjamin. Maine. Fifty. Slit throat. Found in woods._

_John Caudill. New York. Forty seven. Stab wounds. Found in parking lot._

It went on like that. There were thirty seven in total. All the murders happened within five months. Steve felt sick. What had all these people done to deserve death? Had all they hurt Bucky in some way, or had they just crossed paths with the dangerous man?

“Why?” Steve whispered. “Why all these people? Why did you keep all of these articles?”

“I...I just get so angry,” Bucky replied. “I see everyone as a threat. And they _deserved_ to die! They were all bad people.”

“How could you know that?” Steve demanded. “Did you know them all personally? Or did you just convince yourself of that after they were already dead?”

“I just know!” Bucky insisted. “I dream about them sometimes, too. I see their faces...I need proof that they're really dead.”

Steve shook his head and tossed the clippings back in their box. He couldn't stand to look at them anymore. He now had a better picture of just how much blood was on his captor's hands. Bucky was probably regretting that he never got a chance to get an obituary for that cop Barton.

“Put this away,” he all but begged. “I'm done looking at it.”

Bucky silently complied. Steve closed his eyes and turned away. So many people. So many lives ended at Bucky's hands. He couldn't believe it. It made him appreciate still being alive even more. 

He stayed silent as Bucky opened the trunk and carried him out. Bucky's arms seemed strangely cold as he was carried to the passenger seat. He kept his eyes closed and facing toward his window as Bucky started to drive again.

Steve wondered how many times he had been close to being nothing more than a newspaper clipping stored in a locked box.


	18. Chapter 18

Steve had always been good at hiding his emotions. After a lifetime of bullying and loneliness and loss, a guy gets pretty good at that sort of thing. He always stood up to jerks and bullies when he could, but he knew better than to make a snide remark to his boss. He knew that he couldn't show weakness to most people, as they were already looking down at him. Those same people never wanted him around, so he couldn't show them sympathy or kindness even if he wanted to. He had never wanted to be the person who had to keep to themselves all the time, but he had still turned out that way.

Steve thought that he'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping his feelings hidden from Bucky ever since the man abducted him. He had remained calm and kept his expression neutral and Bucky quickly became comfortable with him. It was the best way for him to survive this. If he showed Bucky how he really felt most the the time, fear and anger and disgust, who knew how the unstable man would react? He could have disposed of Steve a long time ago if Steve hadn't been so good at pretending. Or maybe it was that Bucky was so desperate for companionship that he didn't care what the smaller man was going through. 

But Steve wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. He had been able to handle Bucky – what Bucky _was_ – before he'd seen the man's other side. It was easy to pity the man, even feel compassion for him, when he acted like a scared animal or a child. There was a protective instinct in Steve, and it always told him to help someone in need. Who was in need more than Bucky? The man had had a hard, lonely, violent life. He was eager for even the smallest bit of kindness that Steve would offer. Steve knew it was foolish to tell himself that if he was kind enough, if he made his captor feel _loved_ , than maybe he could pull him out of his dark place. Maybe he could help this damaged man. Make him to see that not everyone was out to get him and that he didn't need to keep lashing out at the world. 

But it turned out there was more to Bucky than a wounded animal who needed to be nursed back to health. Of course, Steve had always known that, but he had never expected Bucky to be _proud_ of his work. He had heard that serial killers kept trophies, and it turned out that Bucky was no exception. The memory made Steve's skin crawl. The faces of Bucky's many victims haunted his dreams, just as Bucky said they did to his own. He couldn't stop thinking about them. Were they innocent people? Did they have families? Important jobs? Pets to feed? Steve knew that there were some shitty people in the world, but did all of them really deserve to die, as Bucky said they did? Steve didn't think so. Most of them probably either had something Bucky wanted or had come across him at a bad time.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Bucky anymore. The image of his captor covered in blood and sporting a sick little grin on his face haunted Steve's mind. Steve was afraid that his captor would really look like that if he so much as glanced at him. 

Bucky noticed this, and Steve could tell it was making him upset. The man thrived on Steve's attention and wasn't dealing well with the only human interaction he had suddenly being withdrawn. It took Bucky some time to realize he was being ignored. He was too busy focusing on the road and finding a safe place to pay Steve much attention. Steve was grateful for that. It made distancing himself easier.

The blond knew the exact moment Bucky figured it out. He could feel the taller man's gaze boring into him, which caused him to fix his own stare out the window. He held back a nervous swallow when Bucky pulled over. It had been almost a full day since Steve saw Bucky's Murder Box, as he was calling it, and they had done little besides sit in silence. Steve suddenly noticed how hungry he was. Damn, this was going to make things harder.

He couldn't help but flinch when he felt Bucky's hand on his leg. The man squeezed tighter in response. “Steve?” Bucky asked softly. 

He waited a few moments before replying. Bucky wasn't asking him anything, just waiting for a response. “Yeah?”

Bucky's other hand moved to Steve's chin. Steve tensed when he felt calloused fingers gently try and push his head in their owner's direction. 

“Steve, look at me.” There was only a hint of worry in Bucky's voice. Either he was holding back or he thought Steve had found something really interesting outside.

Steve's breath hitched when his head was turned an inch. No, he wasn't going to give in this time. Acting on instinct, his hand came up and swatted away Bucky's. He ignored the little pained sound the man let out. Why should he care if Bucky was hurt? Bucky never cared if anyone else was hurt.

“I'm-I'm going to go get some food from the back,” Steve muttered. He quickly climbed out of his seat and onto the grass, slamming the car door behind him. He still had no idea where they were. The world had been reduced to an empty road with trees on the either side. Where they even still in America?

Steve could feel eyes on the back of his head as he slowly walked to the trunk. He was surprised that Bucky hadn't jumped out after him, especially after what happened last time Steve had fled from he car. But he wasn't running this time. Maybe Bucky was trying to trust him more. He did show Steve what was probably his biggest secret, after all. If this was the case, then Steve knew that he should tread carefully. He needed as much leverage in this fucked up relationship as he could get. But at the moment, he could care less about anything Bucky felt or had to offer. Steve felt like he had been steadily digging himself into a hole all this time, and he was just getting deeper every time he bonded with his captor or passed up an opportunity to escape. At this rate, he was going to hit magma by the time he finally decided to climb out.

He avoided looking toward the front of the vehicle as he rummaged through plastic bags. He wasn't surprised at the meager selection. There was only so much food that was fit for a life on the run. If Steve ever got out of this alive, he was never eating canned soup or Pop Tarts ever again. He would even cut water out of his diet if he didn't know it wouldn't kill him.

Even though his stomach was still rumbling, Steve didn't have much of an appetite. He selected a couple of packs of granola bars and two bottles of water. He wasn't in a sharing mood.

He kept his head down as he got back into the car. He wordlessly handed Bucky his portion and quietly started to eat his own. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispered.

Steve took a large bite out of his granola so he'd have an excuse to not answer. He was relieved when he heard the sounds of a plastic wrapper being torn and chewing. At least this could buy him a few more minutes of peace. 

He wondered how much longer they were going to stay out here. Steve was craving the sight of other people like never before. At least in the cabin he could see them on the television. Out here there was nothing but Bucky and the occasional deer. He could see Bucky's leg bouncing out of the corner of his eye. That wasn't a good sign. His captor was always so still unless he was nervous or agitated.

All too soon he finished the bar and drank what he wanted of the water. It would be enough to hold him for awhile. He had become used to small rations.

It seemed as soon as he set the bottle down, Bucky seized him by the arms and hauled the smaller man onto his lap. Steve's first instinct was to jerk away, but his legs fell at Bucky's sides and his captor had a tight grip on his hips. Steve had to grab hold of Bucky's shoulders for balance.

Bucky's eyes were wide and and liquid, but his mouth was set in a hard frown. He brought his face close to Steve's. The blond thought Bucky was going to kiss him, but he didn't come that far. 

“What's wrong with you?” Bucky demanded. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I'm not -”

“Yes, you are!” Bucky insisted. “You won't even look at me! Why? What did I do?”

Steve wondered if Bucky really didn't know, or if he was just playing dumb. He tried to look away, which caused Bucky to grab his chin and turn his head back to face him.

“I – I can't...”

“You can't what?” 

“I can't look at you!” Steve blurted out. The tightness he had been feeling in his chest suddenly left, like a dam busting open. Words spilled out of him like trapped water flowing out of a cramped space. “I can't stand to look at you! After all you've done, after all you've shown me! You-you're a monster, Bucky! You took me away from my home, my entire _life_ , and I just fucking want to go _home. I want to get away from you, damn it!_ How-how do you stand to have all this blood on your hands? Why can't you just _stop_? Huh? Why do you have to keep hurting people? Why do you keep hurting _me_? I can't keep living like this! Either you'll end up killing me or I'll kill myself. Please, I can't stand this anymore. All I see is pain and misery when I look at you. It _hurts_ to look at you. It hurts to _be_ with you! And I – I c-can't -”

He didn't realize he had been crying until his throat tightened, cutting off words and air. But he now noticed that his eyes were blurry with tears and his face was covered in wet streaks. His body shook with every sob that escaped his lips. He took several deep breaths to try and calm himself, but the cries only came out louder. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. The back of his hand gently stroked Steve's cheek, wiping away the tear stains.

Steve felt one of Bucky's hands move to the back of his head and the other arm wrapped around his thin frame. He didn't protest when he was pulled down on Bucky's shoulder and held gently. He pushed up his glasses and buried his face in Bucky's shirt and waited for it to stop. He knew he wouldn't be able to just turn this off. His body needed to let go of all the tension he'd felt since his ordeal began. 

Bucky didn't say anything, but he made soothing noises into his good ear and rubbed his back. Steve let himself pretend that he could trust this man again, that everything would be alright. He just _needed_ to right now.

 

Sam couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a decent night's sleep. Looking for James Barnes was taking up all of his time. His days were wake up, watch the news for a sign of Barnes, drink a whole pot of coffee, go over the bastard's file, drive around looking for Barnes, call Natasha and Fury to see what they had, grab a bite, and ask the locals of whatever town he was in if they had seen Barnes or Steven Rogers. The answer was always “no”.

It was a good thing Sam and his girlfriend had split before this case blew up a few months ago. All the time he was spending on it would definitely have driven a wide rift between them. But damn, this was getting frustrating. Every day that maniac was still loose, people were in danger and his victims' families couldn't find closure. It was a heavy burden, but hey, this is what he'd signed up for, right? His ambition in life was to serve and protect, and that's what he was gonna do. He owed it to his country, his city, his squad, and especially to Clint Barton.

Natasha had been doing a good job holding up. She was working around the clock just like he was. Sam personally thought she was using her anger and grief to drive her into finding Barnes. And while that was a good outlet, he worried about what might happen to her after this was over. He would have to make sure she got some good counseling later on.

He was currently in West Virginia of all places. They had only received one sighting of the car Clint described in his last message. The woman who claimed to have seen it said that a man matching Barnes' profile had stopped at her gas station late one night and bought water and a few packs of jerky. She recognized him from the news and tried to see where he would be headed next. She told them that he had gotten back on the highway and was heading south.

That made sense to Sam. Barnes had already wreaked havoc up north. Maybe it was time for a new hunting ground.

He was doing his best to warn the people in this state to be on the look-out. He didn't want them to think that the Winter Slasher was in their backyards and scare them into staying indoors all the time, but it was better safe than sorry at this point. There were roadblocks on almost every highway in this state and the surrounding ones. 

Barnes evidently knew better than to drive on main roads and interstates during the day. That's why Sam had taken to exploring all the back roads and secluded areas he could. (Google Maps was _so_ helpful. He sure as hell didn't want to get lost.) 

They were close to finding James Barnes, Sam could feel it. It seemed like they were finally gaining the upper hand. Everyone in the country wanted the Winter Slasher to be caught, and they would do anything to see it happen. Sam knew they just had to keep looking. Barnes wouldn't be able to hide for much longer. He just wanted to be the one to catch the bastard.


	19. Chapter 19

It had been a long few weeks for Natasha. 

She felt Clint's absence in everything she did. There was no one to always talk with, to wake up next to, to fetch coffee at every hour of the day. There was no one who knew her personal stories or knew just what stupid jokes would make her laugh. No one who made her feel _special_. 

She had only cried a few times. Clint wouldn't want to be cried over, she knew. But she missed him so _much_. 

Fury, Sam, and herself had gone back to New York to bury him. His family had owned a farmhouse out in the country side that Clint had inherited. He hadn't gone their often, but when he did, he always brought Natasha with him. It was nice to have a private little getaway for themselves. They spent short vacations and holidays relaxing there and making pancakes and enjoying wood fires in the winter. They buried Clint in the cemetery down the road. She had cried then, standing over his grave and dressed in all black. Many people from their department also came. They offered their condolences and shared stories and offered to fill in for Natasha if she wanted to take some time off. She thanked them, but she knew she wouldn't accept any of their offers. Work was the best distraction she had right now.

She cried again when she learned Clint had left her the house in his will.

Natasha had traveled a long way on the hunt for the Winter Slasher. She and Sam had split up to cover more ground, but they contacted each other on a daily basis and met up once a week to share notes. It was always a relief to see him alive and well. With James Barnes still on the loose, no one who got close to him was safe. Clint had already proved that.

She was currently in a motel room in Kentucky of all places. They knew that Barnes was heading south, and they were trying to stay one step ahead of him. This place seemed like a good area to hide, honestly. There were trees _everywhere_ , it seemed. And with so many secluded areas on mountains and forests, there were plenty of places to keep secluded in. Barnes could be anywhere.

Natasha felt more determined than ever. She would never forgive herself if Barnes got away again. The only way for her to find peace and honor Clint's memory would be to find this sick man and lock his ass up. As trainees, they were warned over and over about using excessive force, namely that they shouldn't be too physical with someone already in handcuffs. And while Natasha did want Barnes in prime condition for questioning and trial, she wouldn't mind a few good minutes with the man when he couldn't fight back. She wanted to tear into James Barnes. Make him pay for all the pain he's caused and the lives he's taken. If she could make him feel even a fraction of the anguish she was feeling for Clint's loss, then she would be satisfied.

In the past, she had often wondered what had made the Winter Slasher tick. Was the killer motivated by something? A hatred of people? A simple love of killing, maybe likening it to hunting for sport? Perhaps the elusive figure had been mentally ill, or just angry at the world and wanted an outlet. She and Clint had spent many long hours trying to figure the maniac out. (Clint always had his share of morbid jokes to offer, which always made her hide her face and snicker.) But now, Natasha couldn't care less. Who cared what caused Barnes to do what he did? Well, the jury would, but that wasn't her problem. Barnes had done so much damage, the cause didn't seem relevant anymore. The only solution was going to be to take the man out of society forever. A prison or a mental hospital, Natasha didn't care. Neither one were fun places to be. She found herself wishing for the latter. Barnes would likely gain respect in prison, but no one was going to care about the man if he was hospitalized. Between the forced medication and the locked room and the probing doctors, he would probably be more miserable there. She smiled at the thought.

She was brought out of her musings by her phone ringing. She quickly snatched it off the nightstand where it had been charging. It was Sam. Good, maybe he had news. 

“Did you find anything?” she immediately demanded.

“Yes, Natasha, hello to you, too,” Sam drawled sarcastically. “I am doing just fine today.”

She let out an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, sorry. You know how caught up in this I am.”

“Aren't we all,” he replied. “And, as a matter of fact, I think I do have a solid lead.”

She instantly perked up. “What is it?”

“There's been another confirmed sighting,” Sam explained. “All the way across the state from you, but three different people claimed to see Barnes' car and one said he'd see the man himself. It's been raining on and off all week in the area, so there's a chance he might be staying put for the moment.”

“My God,” Natasha breathed. This is what they had been waiting for. “Where is it? I'll be there as fast as I can.”

He gave it to her. “Make it quick, Nat. You know how slippery this guy is. And if there's anyone who wants him caught more badly then me, it's you.”

“Nothing would make me happier than cuffing the bastard,” Natasha affirmed. 

“Oh, and just, you know, be careful,” Sam added, his voice softening. “Like, don't run anybody over on the way here or try and go after him yourself. This isn't the time for rash decisions, okay?”

She smiled at the concern. Sam always was the caregiver of the squad. “I will,” she promised before hanging up.

She packed her bag and was in her car at record time. It was very convenient to travel light in these situations. She felt even more focused than before as she pulled out onto the highway. She was coming for the Winter Slasher, and this time she was going to get him.

 

Steve sighed into Bucky's shoulder. He hadn't been very active for the past few days. Well, less than usual. 

After his crying fit, he felt drained of all energy. Bucky had held him in his arms for what seemed a long time. Steve didn't mind. He had felt too empty to protest in any way. Besides, Bucky's strong arms and chest had a stabilizing, almost soothing, effect. It was a hollow comfort, but Steve would take what he could get.

Steve didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to calloused fingers prying his mouth open and something small being put in. He was grateful for the pill. He could try and sleep away his current issues.

He hadn't left Bucky's lap since. It was odd how content he felt when constantly snuggled up to his captor. Bucky had been giving him half a pill a day to keep him relaxed. Steve was content to just sit where he was. Bucky had been able to drive fine with his small companion in his lap. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm was wrapped around Steve to hold him steady. When Steve was awake, he sat facing forward with his head tucked under Bucky's chin. They would sit in a comfortable silence and watch the road ahead of them. It was still nothing but trees and back roads, but Steve could at least tell they were in a different area. Bucky would reach into the bag he had brought to the passenger seat and hand Steve something to eat every few hours. When Steve felt like sleeping, he would sit sideways and rest his head against Bucky's chest or shoulder.

It was nice to feel this numb. Steve had not forgotten that he was in constant danger, or that his situation was doing no favors for his mental and emotional health, but at least he wasn't worried about it. He wasn't going to get out of this, so why not just accept that and keep calm? A part of him knew that whatever was happening to him right now couldn't be good. Did he have some sort of psychotic break? It was his emotions and his will that had kept him going all this time. Was he putting himself at risk by being so compliant? Or was that what Bucky wanted from him right now? Oh well. He'd get over it eventually.

The car gave an abrupt shake, which caused him to quickly look up. (He was very flinchy these days.) The road they were on now was made of gravel. It was going to be a bumpy ride.

Steve avoided looking in the mirror. He could feel himself start to blush. How couldn't he, when he was bouncing on Bucky's lap? Bucky made no indication of even noticing that, but it made Steve start to think about something he wished he wouldn't. Bucky liked to hold him, and he definitely liked to kiss him...but that was it. Steve had to wonder why. Bucky probably thought they were dating or something like that by this point. Why hadn't he tried to get more from Steve? Bucky was much stronger and taller. It would be easy to get the blond to do whatever he wanted.

Steve was eternally gratefully that his captor had never tried to initiate anything like that between them. He didn't think that neither one of them could handle something so... _intimate_. Maybe that was the one line Bucky wasn't willing to cross. 

Or perhaps he _couldn't_? Steve had never let himself wonder if Bucky was a virgin. He always figured that the man was too busy being a creepy murderer to have time for such things. But now he was questioning if Bucky was even able to have sex. Not that Steve thought he was physically incapable, but maybe Bucky just didn't want to let someone that close. Well, that would apply to a stranger, but he was comfortable with Steve, right? He hated it when anybody but Steve even got close. 

Then again, Bucky frequently acted like he had the mentality of a child. Sometimes just kissing Steve seemed like more than he could handle. It was possible that the thought of sex with anybody would scare Bucky. And Steve felt guilty about this, but he would be relieved if that was true. The thought of being with Bucky in that way made his skin crawl. He could let himself be touched with clothes on and he could let himself be kissed, but he would lose what was left of his mind if Bucky ever reached below the belt. He just knew there was no way he could deal with that. Being the small guy he was, people often looked over him, so he didn't have much (any) experience in the bedroom. If his first time was with Bucky...just, no. He didn't want that. It was ridiculous, but he felt if that were to happen, he would somehow belong to the man. Like Bucky would have some sort of claim on him, and that everything that had happened between them was okay.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. That-that just wasn't going to happen. He knew it. 

He noticed that the road had become smooth again. He rested his head against Bucky's shoulder and tried to doze. He needed to take his mind off of this subject before he started to cry again.

 

Natasha and Sam met up at the police station closest to the area where Barnes had been spotted. They needed to make a plan and have plenty of back-up before they set out. No one wanted a repeat of Clint's death.

She wasn't embarrassed to admit that she had wrapped her arms around the sergeant as soon as she got out of her car. The thought of catching the man she spent over a year looking for and avenging Clint was giving her the adrenaline rush of her life. This was the day, she could feel it. Sam had been happy to return the hug. 

They were standing outside the station with the local police. They had everyone the small department could spare going with them. It made Sam nervous, but even though Barnes was highly dangerous, he was still only one man. And if everything went according to plan, these guys wouldn't even need to come into close contact with Barnes.

“Okay, let's go over the plan one more time,” Natasha said. “Me and Sergeant Wilson will take one car and go on the route Barnes is supposedly on. We'll be going the opposite way in hopes of cutting him off. A squad car will be with us to make sure that goes smoothly. The rest of you will go the other way and make sure Barnes cannot turn around. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, ma'am!” came from the officers. Natasha looked at their faces. Seven men and three women. All young, but they looked so determined.

“Remember, James Barnes is not someone to be trifled with,” Sam reminded them. “We all know what he's done and what he's capable of. The intention is to bring him in alive, but use your guns if you believe your life is in danger. We do not want to lose anyone in this operation. Understand?”

Affirmative answers all around.

“Alright, let's move out,” Natasha ordered.

She realized her hand shad been curled into fist. She pried them open long enough to climb into the passenger seat. Sam knew the area just a bit better so he would be driving. She was glad and proud to have Sam Wilson working beside her. She was one of the most reliable and capable men she knew. 

She just wished that Clint were here for this.

 

They had stopped on some little empty side road. Steve only recalled seeing a few small houses as they drove by. They weren't too far from the small convenience store they had stopped at. Bucky had rushed in and out and brought back some more jerky and water.

Steve had returned to his usual seat. He felt strangely cold without Bucky's bodily heat, even though it was a sweltering hot day. Funny, how he had been doing his best to keep warm on a daily basis when his ordeal started, and now he was constantly warm. He was glad that Bucky had gotten a car with a decent air conditioning system.

He turned his head to look at his captor. Bucky looked tired. Not in the usual way, either. Bucky still had dark circles under his eyes, as always, but he seemed to be more worn down. Exhausted in every way. Was being on the run finally taking its toll on him? Steve didn't know how long Bucky spent on the road before they met, but it couldn't have been any longer than this stint. And he did have the cabin to stay at until recently.

“Buck?” he whispered.

Bucky slowly lifted his head and smiled softly at him. The action made Steve return the gesture. It had been a while since he's seen anything other than a frown on his captor's face. Bucky reached other to stroke his cheek. “Yeah, Stevie?”

Steve placed his hand on top of Bucky's. “Hey, um, have you been getting enough sleep?” he asked. “You look kinda tired.”

Bucky made a sound that was almost a laugh. “It's nothing I'm not used to.” He leaned in toward Steve.

Steve met him halfway for the kiss. The contact felt surprisingly good after going some time without it. He reached up to cradle Bucky's face, and the taller man mimicked the action. They stayed like that for a long moment. Steve could tell that something was upsetting Bucky, and he didn't mind providing this comfort.

Bucky was the one who pulled away. He held Steve's head in place so he could look into his eyes. He licked his lips before speaking. “Steve, I...I'm sorry,” he murmured.

“Buck?” Steve was confused. This wasn't the first time Bucky had randomly apologized. Maybe this time he would get an explanation.

“I want to make you happy, Steve,” Bucky continued. “But you're not. You never are.” Steve's heart dropped to his stomach when Bucky's eyes began to water. “What do you want, Steve? What do I need to do? I hate seeing you so sad.”

“Bucky...” Steve wasn't sure what to say. His automatic response was _let me go!_ , but the odds of that happening were slim to none. 

Bucky gave him a peck on the lips. “I-I'm going to make this better, Steve. I'll find a way we can be happy.”

Steve felt nothing but pity for his captor. Was he really that delusional, or had he convinced himself that a life with Steve was the only way he could be happy? Was it both? “Yeah, sure thing, Buck.”

He thought Bucky was going for another kiss when he stiffened and went back to his own seat. He gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield, eyes wide and alert. 

“Bucky?” What was going on?

“Do you hear that?” the taller man breathed.

“Hear what?” As soon as those words were out, Steve became aware of something loud coming up behind him. Even with his poor hearing, he could recognize the sound of police sirens. He instantly became afraid for Bucky. How had they-

Bucky put the car in drive and pushed down on the gas pedal. It was a good thing Steve had been wearing his seat belt, or he would have been flung forward on the dashboard. He looked around everywhere, from Bucky's face, which was looking more and more panicked, to the back windows, where he could distinctly make out the blue and red flashing lights. What was going on? What was Steve supposed to do? Logically, Steve knew that he should be ecstatic at the sight of the police. This could be his chance to regain his freedom. But what was going to happen to Bucky? The man needed - 

“Shit!” Bucky cried out.

Steve turned back to the front and gasped when he saw even more cars ahead of them. Where had they all come from? Weeks of nothing and now this?

Bucky wasn't slowing down. He was obviously afraid, but also angry. He growled and speed up even more. Was he going to ram into them?

“Bucky, no!” Steve shouted. He reached over to grab the wheel. “You're going to kill us!”

They were only about ten feet from the cars when Bucky swore and hit the brakes. The vehicle came to a screeching halt. It seemed like mere moments before they were surrounded by squad cars. Bucky began to shake. 

A woman and a man got out of one of the cars in front of them. They had their guns drawn.

“Come out with your hands up!” the woman ordered. “It's over, Barnes.”

Bucky growled and revved the engine. Was he going to run them over?

The man looked over to Steve. He didn't know what his expression was, but it was enough to make the man's eyes soften. “Come on, get out of the car,” he urged. 

Bucky seized his arm in a vice grip just as Steve was reaching for his door. He was suddenly gripped by fear of his captor again. Bucky was dangerous and sick, he reminded himself, he had to get away. 

“Bucky, please!” he pleaded. “Just let me go!”

Bucky only glared at him before looking back to the cops. He never looked more like a trapped animal about to lash out. Steve had to do something. Who knew what Bucky would do? He didn't want any else to get hurt.

“Bucky,” he tried again “you don't want me to get hurt, do you?”

Bucky turned to him again. He looked like a puppy who knew its owner was mad at it. Steve swallowed to get the lump out of his throat. “Look what's happening, Bucky. You know this won't end well. I can't stop you from trying to get out of this, but please, let me go first. I don't want to die here.”

“Steve -” Bucky whimpered.

The grip on his arm loosened and Steve was out of the car and running toward the man in front of him in a flash. He didn't look back, he couldn't. He was sure Bucky's expression would kill him. 

The man directed Steve to stay behind him.

“Please,” Steve begged “don't hurt him.” It was getting harder to breath. His conflicting emotions were becoming too much to bear. Bucky should be caught, but he shouldn't be hurt. Steve needed to be free, but he needed to be with Bucky.

“I hope I don't have to,” the man answered.

And to everyone's surprise, James Barnes left his car with his hands up. Steve looked around the cop to watch. He couldn't help but stare in shock. What was Bucky doing? Just giving up? His face was blank, but Steve could see the great sadness in his eyes. The cop pushed him back before Bucky could locate him.

Bucky didn't fight as the woman rushed forward and cuffed him. Steve watched on numbly as Bucky was read his rights and put into the back of her car. A strong hand on his shoulder caught his attention.

“Hey, come on,” the cop said in a soothing tone. “Let's get you somewhere safe.”

Steve nodded slowly in reply and let himself be placed into another car. Had that really just happened? Why had Bucky done that? What was going to happen to them now?

“Hey, relax,” the cop told him. “That freak can't hurt you anymore.”

Steve let out a broken laugh and buried his face in his hands.


	20. Chapter 20

James Barnes was to be immediately extradited back to New York. Natasha and Sam had no doubts that many other states would soon demand to have Barnes in their custody. His hunting ground had spread across most of the north east. But they were the ones who caught him, and they had evidence that his first murders happened on their turf. He would be held accountable for the rest of his victims later. For now, he was staying in their custody.

They decided to wait until they got back to question him. Natasha had been antsy to interrogate the bastard since she cuffed him. But she knew there would be plenty of time for that later. The detective would have her due time tearing into Barnes, who didn't seem like the type to fold easy. Good, more fun for her. 

The man had been eerily quiet ever since they brought him in. And that wasn't too unusual. Natasha had arrested plenty of people who didn't say a damn thing until they had their lawyers. Expect this felt different. Barnes gave off the weirdest vibes. She knew that he was no threat now. No one in their right minds would let him out of his restraints. And yet, he still let out a sense of danger. Like a tiger trapped in a cage, many were scared to get too close, lest he take a swipe at them.

The Rogers kid was being pretty quiet, too. (Why did she keep calling him “kid”? They were about the same age.) Not as silent as his former captor was, though. He acted alert enough and responded to basic questions. He still looked pretty shook up, so they decided to wait until they got back home to question him, too. Someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and he clung to it despite the summer heat. It was a sad sight, really. 

“We'll get him some help, Nat,” Sam promised when she voiced her thoughts to him. “Honestly, he doesn't seem as damaged as he could be. But I guess we'll have to wait and see how he actually is.”

They had gotten a private plane to take them back to New York. Barnes went quietly, but he kept looking around. Searching for a way to escape? Or for a certain short blond? The thought made Natasha's blood boil. She didn't know what had gone on between them in the past months, but it couldn't have been anything good. Thankfully, someone had the foresight to close off a section of the plane for Barnes. They didn't want Rogers to have to look at him again. 

Sam offered the kid half of a Xanax to help him relax through the plane ride. Just knowing Barnes was there might set him off. It was worrying how Rogers just took it and popped it into his mouth without question. 

They stayed tense and on high alert throughout the ride. It was almost too quiet and tense for Natasha's liking. She almost wished Barnes would try something so she'd have an excuse to punch his lights out. But she sat still and kept Fury updated on their location while Sam kept his eyes on Rogers, who was slumped asleep against the window.

She figured she should enjoy the silence. It was most likely the calm before the storm.

 

Being back home had a weird feeling to it. Well, not that Steve was exactly _home_ – he remembered being woken on the plane and being put in another car before passing back out. When he woke up again, they were at a police station. The male cop, Sergeant Wilson, held his arm and escorted him inside. He led Steve to a little room with a table and some chairs. Wilson got him to sit down.

“Hey, you're probably hungry, huh?” he asked. “You just sit tight. I'll go get you something. You need to keep your energy up.”

Steve nodded in reply. He waited until he heard the door shut to take off his glasses and rub the remaining tiredness from his eyes. He needed to focus. What was going to happen to him now? And what had they done with Bucky? God, this was actually happening, wasn't it? They had finally caught the Winter Slasher. If this had happened back in the spring, Steve would have been beyond thrilled. But now...now he didn't know what to feel. Bucky needed to be caught, Steve knew that, but he remembered how Bucky had acted when he told Steve about his first stint in jail. The man had looked scared. But Bucky had been younger and had finally acted out against his abusive guardian. Maybe he would fare better this time. He must have hardened over the years, right?

He sighed wearily. Bucky had already dug his own grave. Steve was more worried about himself at the moment. He realized that he was in a interrogation room. Did they suspect him of something? How could they? Being kidnapped and held against his will wasn't a crime! But what if they thought he had gone willingly, or helped Bucky hide or commit a crime? It probably looked that way. Steve had done small errands for them both. He could have called for help several times. Would it look bad that he didn't? 

His head shot up when the door opened. Wilson came in juggling styrofoam cups and a cardboard box. “Sorry if the coffee sucks. Everyone else here likes it, but it's way too acidic for me.” He placed the food on the table and handed Steve one of the cups. “There, that should perk you right up. You need cream or sugar?”

Steve shook his head and took an eager sip of the hot brew. It was strong, just how he liked it. How long had it been since he'd had coffee again? Too damn long, that's how. He felt like he could drink a whole pot and still not be satisfied. He felt his cheeks flush when his stomach let out a loud gurgle.

Wilson chuckled. “Hey, no wonder you're hungry after all that's happened. Help yourself.” He opened the box to reveal a medium sized cheese pizza. 

Steve could have cried at the sight. Fuck the coffee, how long had it been since he'd had pizza? Not since he'd been taken by Bucky, that's for sure. The smell of melted mozzarella and tomato sauce made his mouth water. He hurriedly snatched a piece and downed it in three bites. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Then again, anything would taste good after months of jerky and Pop-Tarts.

He was in the middle of his third slice when he noticed Wilson staring at him. He sheepishly put the greasy food back down. He must really look the picture right now. Old, worn clothing, messy hair and unshaven face. Not to mention he hadn't showered in weeks. He suddenly felt embarrassed to be sitting by this man, who obviously had the luxury to care about his appearance.

The man let out a good-natured chuckle. “Hey, don't stop on my account.” His expression turned thoughtful. “You, uh, didn't get to eat like this while you were with _him_ , huh?”

Steve laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea.” He picked the slice back up. No point in wasting this. If they arrested him for something, he wouldn't see pizza again for a long while. Maybe they would send him to the same prison as Bucky. He would have to become the guy's wife or something to stay safe in there. Best not to continue that train of thought.

Wilson waited until he had finished eating to speak again. “So, Mr. Rogers -”

“Call me Steve,” he interrupted. “Mr. Rogers always makes me think of that kids show.”

“Then you can call me Sam,” the man replied with a smile. “As I was saying, you've been through a lot recently, haven't you? Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve froze. What did this guy want to know? Was he going to try and get Steve to self-incriminate? And even if he didn't, Steve wasn't sure he _could_ talk about his recent experiences. How could he explain himself without sounding like he was on Bucky's side?

His expression must have given his thoughts away. “Hey, you're not in trouble,” Sam assured him. “We just need to know as much information as you can give us. If we're going to persecute Barnes for abducting you, then we need to know what all happened.”

Well, that was a relief. But where to even start? He felt irrationally guilty at the thought of helping to lock Bucky up. But how much could his testimony hurt? Bucky had done far worse then kidnapping him.

“It's okay if you're not ready,” Sam said. Steve looked up in surprise. The sergeant continued “Look, we know that living with Barnes couldn't have been easy. You're the victim here. We're not gonna judge you for anything you had to do to stay safe.”

Steve felt his eyes start to water. Could it really be this easy? “I...I don't even know where to start.”

“The beginning is usually the best place,” Sam stated. “How about this? We know he took you from your office in Brooklyn. Right? What happened after that?”

Steve ran a hand over his face. He didn't want to remember that terrifying day. “He...he tied me up. He put me in his truck and took me to this cabin in the woods.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and picked up a manila file that Steve hadn't noticed was there. Sam pulled out a picture and held it up. “Is this the cabin?”

Steve looked closely. The picture showed the charred remains of a building, but Steve would know that damn place no matter what it looked like. So Bucky had burned it down. He should have figured. “Yeah, that's it.”

Sam wrote something down in the file. “How long did he keep you there?”

Steve bit his lip. “I lost count of the days. A few weeks, maybe. He kept me tied up and drugged a lot of the time. I didn't know what he wanted with me. It was scary. He was scary. I didn't know what was going to happen to me.”

Sam nodded and hesitated a moment before putting a hand on Steve's shoulder. He tried not to flinch. This man was here to help him. “I'm sorry for what's happened to you,” Sam told him earnestly. “We'll get you all the help we can. This must have been very traumatic.”

“I'll live,” Steve replied. He didn't know how at the moment, but that was a problem for later. “I feel bad for talking about this. It's just – I know Bucky deserves whatevers coming to him, but there's a part of me that doesn't want to see him hurt. Is it weird that I still care about him? I mean, he's been my only company for months -”

“Hey, that's understandable,” Sam promised. “The guy's kept you on a tight leash, right? You'd go crazy if you didn't try to make friends with him.” Sam paused. “Wait, you call him _Bucky_?”

Steve had to laugh. “Yeah, that's what he told me to call him. I thought it was weird, too.”

“Did he hurt you in any way? Physical or...otherwise?”

“Not much. He usually only did enough to restrain me,” Steve answered. He repressed a shudder. “But he never, you know, _touched_ me.” He looked down at his hands. 

Sam wrote more in the file. “Alright, that's good to hear. You're looking kind of pale, Steve. Do you want to stop for now?” 

Steve shook his head. “No, I-I want to say this. If I don't do it now than I may never.”

“I'm all ears.”

“Do you think I could have some more coffee? I have a lot to say.”

“Sure thing.”

 

Natasha walked into the interrogation room with a stony face and straight back. She was going to show James Barnes no weakness. The sooner he cracked, the better for all of them. She just hoped he didn't remember that he could call for a lawyer. She wanted her one-on-one time with him.

The man glared at her as she walked in. He was muscular and had an impressive scowl, but Natasha didn't care. He was still handcuffed and there were people watching from the one-way window. She was the one with the power here.

She threw the case file down on the table in front of him before sitting down. “So,” she began “someone's been a busy boy.”

No response, but more scowling.

Natasha's gaze went to his left arm. “Nice tattoo. Where'd you get it?

Barnes flinched at this. Was this a sore spot for him? She'd have to remember that for later. “We've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Barnes. It's so nice to finally have you here.”

Oh, if looks could kill. She was sure he would be strangling her right now if he could.

She opened the file and rifled through the many pictures. “Oh, where should we start?” She decided on one and put it down in front of him. “Senator Pierce. Someone really did a number on him in his apartment. It was you, wasn't it? Daddy wasn't so nice to you, huh?”

“He wasn't my dad!” Barnes spat. “He was a monster.”

Oh, great. Did her suspect have an abusive past? Whatever lawyer he got would definitely play that up. 

“You want to talk about it?” Natasha offered. He went back to silently glaring. “You know we have a lot on you, Barnes. You're gonna have to speak up sometime.” Hmm, she was going to need something to get him going. He was obviously the type who could go for awhile without saying anything. She selected another picture. This might be a risky move, but she was willing to try anything. She placed it down beside the picture of Pierce's body. “So, why did you abduct Steven Rogers?”

It was almost humorous the way his face changed. His eyes softened and Natasha could have sworn she'd seen his mouth twitch. He leaned forward to get a better look at the picture.

“I have to say I'm curious as to why you kept him alive for so long,” she confessed. “Not that I'm complaining, I'm glad he's safe, but why him? Why didn't you just gut him like you did his coworkers?”

It was silent for a few moments. Natasha was willing to let him keep staring at Rogers' picture. Maybe it would help loosen Barnes' tongue. 

“I want to see him,” Barnes suddenly demanded.

“What?” The request made Natasha angry. How could this creep just demand to see his kidnap victim? “No! He's been through enough because of you. You're never going to speak with him again.”

That set him off. He rose from his chair as best as he could. “I want to see him!” he repeated, voice rising. “Bring him here! I want to see him!”

Well, this wasn't going anywhere. Natasha picked up the file and began to walk out. “Maybe if you cooperate I'll think about it,” she said dryly.

“Come back! I want -” Barnes' words were cut off by the slamming door.

Natasha sighed and ran hand over her forehead. She had her work cut out for her. Sam and Fury came out of the side room.

“Well that went smoothly,” Fury commented. 

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. “First he's giving me nothing and then he's going berserk over Rogers. Poor kid. I wonder what he had to put up with?”

“He gave me a pretty good idea,” Sam responded. “He spent the past hour telling me about his time with Barnes. I'm telling you, this guy's Stockholmed all to hell. It's almost like Barnes knew what he was doing. He kept Steve completely restrained and restricted at first, and then gradually started to give him more freedom. He also kept feeding him all these sob stories and Steve started to feel sorry for him. The guy's still a little protective of him, even though he knows he shouldn't be. They both need counseling ASAP, if you ask me.”

“They'll get it,” Fury promised. “But what are we going to do with Rogers? We can keep Barnes here as long as we need to, but the kid probably won't want to stay here. Does he have anywhere to go back to?”

“I've been keeping tabs on his old apartment,” Sam revealed. “His landlord put all his stuff in storage and is renting the place out to new tenants. So there's no going back there.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. To be fair, the landlord had good reason to think Rogers was dead, and there was no gain in not renting an empty apartment when no rent money was coming in. But still, what a dick move.

“But I was thinking he could come stay with me for awhile,” Sam continued. “I have plenty of room since me and Roxanne split. And this way we can keep a close eye on him. Besides, I kinda like him, and he looks like he needs a friend right now.”

Fury nodded. “As long as he agrees, that's fine.”

There was a loud bang from inside the room where Barnes was being kept. “God, what are we gonna do about that?” Natasha groaned. “I talked to him for five minutes and he's already giving me a migraine.” She wished Clint was around to pull her a coffee out of thin air like always.

Fury looked at the door thoughtfully. “What if...what if we did let him see Rogers?”

“What?” they both asked. What was the chief up to?

“Only if Rogers is up for it,” Fury assured them. “I know this is unethical, but maybe we can get Rogers to get him to talk. He doesn't have to stay in there long, just long enough to calm Barnes down and get him to cooperate.”

“That's a terrible idea!” Sam cried. “We don't just put victims back with their captors right after they've been rescued!”

“Do you think Rogers can handle it?” Fury insisted.

Sam groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this at all, but I think so. As long as Barnes is restrained, I think Steve would want to see him.”

“Then let's go get him,” Natasha chimed. She didn't like this either. She was going to keep a close eye on Barnes throughout the whole interaction.

 

Steve was looking over the newspaper Sam left him when the sergeant walked back in. He was accompanied by another dark skinned man with an eye patch and the redheaded woman who had arrested Bucky.

Sam cleared his throat. “Steve, this is Detective Romanoff, I guess you've already met, and Chief Fury.”

Steve nodded and took the chief's out stretched hand. What did these people want? To ask him more questions?

“Mr. Rogers -”

“Steve, please!”

“- _Steve_ , we were wondering if you'd do us a favor,” Romanoff continued. “And you are absolutely free to decline.”

“What is it?”

“As you now, we have James Barnes in our custody,” Fury answered, “and we're having a hard time getting him too cooperate. Again, you can say no, but do you think there is any way you can get him to talk to us? He did ask for you.”

Well, this was a surprise. He didn't think anyone was going to let him and Bucky near each other again. Did he want to see Bucky again? His gut instinct told him no, that being near his captor again was a very bad idea. Who knew how Bucky would react in these new surroundings? But he couldn't ignore the part of himself that was concerned about Bucky. He kept in-visioning how scared the man had looked when he spoke of his past prison experiences and of being alone. It made him feel guilty to just abandon the man here. Surely going to speak to him wouldn't hurt? “Alright, I'll go see him.”

They looked surprised at his answer. He was led down a few hallways until they stopped him by a door.

“You can leave at any time,” Romanoff assured him before leading him inside. Sam came in with them.

Steve's heart sunk when he saw Bucky. The man's eyes were downcast, and he didn't bother to look up and see his visitors. His wrists were cuffed together and there were more restraining his legs. A part of him felt vindictive. Didn't feel so nice to be tied up, huh, Buck?

“Bucky?” he asked softly.

Bucky's head immediately shot up. “Steve?” He sounded unsure, as if doubting the blond was really there.

“Yeah, it's me, Buck,” he confirmed. “How you holding up?”

“Steve!” Bucky repeated. He did his best to reach out to the smaller man.

Steve took a step closer. He couldn't just let Bucky sit there like that when he obviously needed comfort. Sam placed a shoulder to stop him.

“You don't have to -”

“It's alright,” Steve promised. “Just let me go.”

Sam did so after a moment's hesitation. Steve could see Romanoff placing a hand on her gun out of the corner of his eye.

“Steve!” Bucky whimpered as Steve came closer. God, he looked like a child who wanted his mother.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders and squeezed him tightly. Bucky pressed himself as close as he could against Steve. The smaller man could feel Bucky shake against him.

“Hey, it's gonna be alright,” Steve soothed, almost choking on the lie. There was no way Bucky was ever going to be alright. He knew what things were like in prison. His former captor's life was only going to get worse. Maybe he deserved that. “It's gonna be alright.”


	21. Chapter 21

Sam's apartment only had one bedroom, but Steve was happy to sleep on the couch. Any flat surface would do after two months of sleeping in a car seat. 

Steve still couldn't believe he was with Bucky for five months. It seemed longer. It was somehow hard to remember what his old apartment had looked like. (His bastard landlord had given it away.) All he could envision was peeling yellow wallpaper, cold showers, and at least five new roaches everyday. 

Sam's place was nicer. It was more up-to-date, with good air conditioning and modern appliances and furniture. The walls were a pleasant shade of red and the floors were wooden. It possessed much more of a “homey” feel than the other places he had lived recently. And, oh, the shower was excellent. Steve found himself spending a lot of time in there. It was a wonder Sam hadn't complained about the water bill yet. But it was a good place to just relax and not think for awhile. He imagined that he could wash away Bucky's scent and the feel of his touch, as if they weren't imprinted into his memory forever. Steve was sure that he would be sixty years old and still be tasting Bucky Barnes on his lips.

It was almost odd just how... _nice_ Sam was. Not that Steve was complaining. It had been a long while since he met someone who was genuinely kind to him. The man had opened up his home to a stranger and was practically caring for him. Not anyone would do that. It made Steve smile. He knew that Sam was only doing this for the case against Bucky, why else would he be keeping Steve around, but he couldn't help but hope the sergeant would still want him around after it was over. Sam would make a great friend.

After living with someone like Bucky for so long, no wonder Sam's generosity seemed weird. Steve had become used to surviving, and hiding his true feelings to do so. Sam was a trained counselor, and encouraged Steve to speak his mind often.

“It's not healthy to keep things bottled up, Steve,” was the constant remainder. “It's okay if you don't feel ready to talk, or if you don't feel comfortable, but I'm always here if you need to vent, man.”

Steve was just too used to hiding. Hiding himself and being hidden away. He wanted to open up. He wanted to express the fear and sadness and anger he still felt. But Bucky's watery eyes and trembling mouth kept popping into his mind. It rendered him unable to say anything against his former captor. God, when was this damned guilt going to leave him? He had nothing to feel bad about. He owed Bucky nothing. He kept telling himself this, but it never helped. He would have to talk to Sam about this one day soon.

But for now, he wanted to not think. All Steve wanted was to relax and watch mindless television and wear clothes that were his own size and eat as much food as Sam was willing to cook for him. It could have been because he went nearly half a year without a proper meal, but Sam's cooking tasted delicious. His host had laughed bashfully when Steve told him so.

His stomach growled at the thought of food. Sam had told him that he was free to anything in the fridge, but he wasn't home yet and Steve wanted to wait for him. Unlike his silent and sometimes tense meals with Bucky, Sam was talkative and funny and open. Steve felt himself thriving from the company. It made him feel like he had a shot at being normal again.

Sam was running late this evening. At least, Steve thought he was. He had only been in the man's home for a couple of days. Not enough time to learn Sam's schedule. Besides, having Bucky at the police station must be keeping them all busy.

Steve sighed and ran a hand over his face. He wondered how Bucky was doing. He hadn't seen the man since the day he returned to New York. And, damn, did Steve want to go see him. He knew that Bucky was scared and lonely. Bucky had his current situation coming for a long time now, but Steve thought he still deserved some sort of comfort. He also knew that Bucky would only accept it from him. Steve was the only one to show him affection in the past twenty years, after all. 

Sam and Natasha (as Detective Romanoff insisted she be called) tossed around words like _Stockholm Syndrome_ and _coping mechanisms_ to describe what he was feeling. It made him feel slightly better. At least there were names for his conflicted thoughts. But did he really have some sort of mental problem now? Is that what Bucky drove him to? They had insisted that feeling sympathy for Bucky was natural, and that Steve was in no way in the wrong. Steve wondered how long it would take to get over it. What if he never did? Maybe he would be worrying after the Winter Slasher for the rest of his life.

Thankfully, the front door opened and Sam walked in and saved Steve from dwelling on Bucky. For now, anyway. 

Sam looked toward him and smiled. He lifted the plastic bag in his hand so Steve could get a better view of it. “I'm back!” he announced jovially, causing Steve to chuckle. Steve followed him to the kitchen table and sat down.

“I hope take-out is alright. I don't have the energy to cook,” Sam explained.

“It smells great,” Steve replied. Fuck, did he smell crab ragoon? His mouth watered. He happily filled the plate Sam handed him and dug in. He couldn't always afford Chinese when he had the office job, so this was especially good. He polished off most of the plate before looking back to Sam. His host was eating more slowly. Steve noticed the bags under his eyes.

“You look tired,” he stated. Crap, was that the wrong thing to say? No wonder he never had any friends.

He was relieved when Sam smiled at him. “Yeah, that boy of yours is taking a lot out of us. Stubborn as a mule.”

Steve laughed half-heartedly. “He sure is.” Thoughts of Bucky flooded his mind again. “How...how is he?”

Sam looked at him thoughtfully. “About the same as the last time you saw him,” he informed Steve. “Still unwilling to talk. And...he keeps asking for you.”

Steve's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or excitement. “He does?” The guilt came crashing down on him again. Here he was in this comfortable apartment while Bucky was chained up all alone in a cold cell. 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. He put down his fork full of lo mein. “Look, I know this is wrong to ask and you can definitely say no, just like before, but we're really not having any progress with this guy. All he does is cause a ruckus or demand to see you. And last time he did, he really softened up and even confessed to a few things. So we, mainly the chief, were wondering -”

“I'll see him,” Steve interrupted. “I want to talk to him. I want to help.”

Sam looked weary. “They want you to, but I think it's a bad idea, Steve. You're not going to get better by being forced to see the man who held you hostage for so long again. You could handle seeing him last time, but I think that was more than enough.”

“It's alright,” Steve assured the taller man. He didn't know if that was the truth, but he was going with it. The words were just coming out. “I know this sounds weird, but...I think it'll help me to see him. I want him to get help. I don't want him to be this way anymore. I want to do whatever I can to make him better. And if getting him to confess his crimes is a way to do that, then I'm all for it.”

Sam still look hesitant, but he nodded. “I think what you're needing is closure,” he stated. “You want to confront him again and then be done with him.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe. I don't really know what I want.”

“We can go down to the station tomorrow morning.” Sam helped himself to more fried rice. “You should rest up. You know better than the rest of us how quick Barnes can wear you down.” 

 

The sight of Bucky in cuffs gave him mixed feelings. The strongest was pity. Bucky was tall and strong and imposing, but here he looked defeated and pathetic. They told him that Bucky was often scowling, but right now he just looked lost. He perked up when Steve and the cops walked in.

“Steve!” Bucky greeted. He was actually smiling.

Before anyone could stop him, Steve walked up and embraced his former captor. He felt he needed this just as much as Bucky did. He didn't want Bucky to think he hated him. And despite everything that's happened between them, Steve really didn't. He still felt anger toward Bucky for what the man had put him through, but he pitied him more than anything. 

Bucky surprised everyone when he tilted his head up and gave Steve a hard, hungry kiss. Steve didn't return it, but he was oddly touched by the action. Did Bucky still like him despite Steve leaving him here alone?

“Hey, that's enough!” Natasha declared. She hurried over and wrenched Steve away. Bucky scowled deeply at her. Steve was sure there would be a knife in her if Bucky had his hands free.

Sam pulled out a chair across from Bucky and gently guided Steve to sit in it. He and Natasha then took their seats. Natasha put down a file and recorder. Sam produced the metal box that contained Bucky's newspaper clippings. Oh boy.

Bucky kept his eyes glued to Steve. The heavy gaze no longer made Steve uncomfortable. It was actually a bit comforting. He had become used to Bucky's stare over time and it felt odd to be without it.

“Now, Mr. Barnes,” Natasha began, her tone clipped, “you've not been cooperating with us, despite it being in your best interest. So we brought a little bargaining chip with us.” She reached over to place a hand on Steve's shoulder. “If don't want to talk to us, maybe you'll talk to Steve. And if not, we can just have him leave. Your choice.”

Bucky looked torn between anger and longing and fear. He obviously didn't like to be threatened, but he wanted Steve to be with him more than anything. Steve had never felt lower. He was being used against Bucky now? This wasn't fair to either him or Bucky. 

“What do you want?” Bucky murmured. His feet weren't secured down and he moved them to brush against Steve's.

Steve didn't want to let Bucky do this just because of him. “Wait, Buck -”

Bucky shushed him. “It's okay, Stevie.” God, he looked like his entire life was complete by just seeing the blond. Neither of them noticed their company exchanging a look.

“Let's start with this,” Sam suggested. He opened the file and took out the picture of a bearded man standing in front of a black SUV. Steve's heart sunk. He recognized it well.

“Hank McCoy disappeared about four months ago,” Sam explained. “We found his car several weeks later, abandoned in an empty lot in Connecticut. Yours and Steve's DNA was all over it.”

Bucky nodded.

“Did you kill him?” Sam demanded.

“Yeah, I did. I needed his car,” Bucky admitted. He didn't sound the least bit repentant. He was always so matter-of-fact when killing people for their belongings.

Sam and Natasha both looked surprised at the confession. Days of nothing and now this? Barnes singing like a bird? Maybe Steve Rogers was their good luck charm.

Bucky looked toward Steve, as if searching for approval. That's what Steve was supposed to be doing here, right? Keep Bucky talking.

He managed to give his former captor a small smile. “Yeah, Buck, just like that.” The words felt dirty leaving his mouth.

“Moving on.” Natasha pushed the metal box in front of Bucky. “We found this in your vehicle. Care to explain what it is?”

Bucky admitted to several more murders like they meant nothing to him. He just kept his eyes trained on Steve's face while he spoke. Steve wondered why Bucky was doing this. Didn't he know what confessing to everything would mean for his future? Or did he genuinely not care what he was doing, as long as he could see Steve?

There was a sudden commotion from outside the room. Suddenly the door was flung open and a man in an expensive looking blue suit walked in. He wasn't particularly tall, but his brown hair and beard were expertly styled. He eyed them all with disbelief.

“What the hell's going on here?” he demanded.

“Mr. Stark,” Natasha greeted dryly. “Mr. Barnes here was in the middle of multiple confessions. Which we have on tape, by the way.”

“How long has he been here? Why wasn't I called sooner?” the man demanded. His gaze landed on a very confused Steve. “Who's this guy and why the hell is he in here?”

“I could ask you the same, pal,” Steve shot back. 

The man looked offended. “Tony Stark,” he announced proudly. “Public defender. I'm here to represent Mr. Barnes. And this interrogation is totally over.”

Bucky looked unaffected by this, but Steve was surprised. Ah, so this was the infamous Tony Stark. They said that he was the best defense attorney in the city. He always took on wealthy clients and was often in tabloids for partying or some sort of scandal. Why was he here? Bucky didn't have any money.

“I don't know about you two, but I think we definitely need to have a word outside,” Stark announced. He led the way out. Sam and Natasha sighed and stood up. They had obviously dealt with Stark before. Bucky looked fretfully toward Steve. Steve looked toward the cops, but they were hurrying after Stark. Soon enough he was alone with Bucky again.

“Stevie!” Bucky whispered urgently. 

Steve didn't know what exactly he wanted, and maybe Bucky didn't, either. But the man had such longing in his eyes. Bucky placed his cuffed hands on the table and Steve reached over hold one. “How you holding up in here, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged. “I've had worse. These people don't scare me.” He smiled sadly at Steve. “I miss you, though. I miss you a lot.”

Steve nodded and stroked Bucky's hand with his thumb. “I've been staying with Sergeant Wilson. I don't really have anywhere else to go.”

“You look good,” Bucky murmured. “Healthier.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve looked into Bucky's sad eyes. “Bucky, I know you're scared, but you know you've done a lot of bad things. And you have to be punished for them. Remember what you told me once back at the cabin? That people get punished when they're bad?”

Bucky whimpered and looked down at their joined hands. “I keep thinking about you,” he breathed. “I don't care what they do to me in here. I just want you to be with me.”

Steve could feel his eyes getting wet. “I can't do that, Buck.” He flinched when Bucky whimpered. “But I'll visit you whenever I can,” he promised. “I'm not gonna let you go though this alone.” God, he hoped that he didn't regret this. He must really have Stockholm whatever to want to make the man who made his life hell for months feel better. 

“Come here?” Bucky asked. He tugged gently on Steve's hand. 

Steve obliged and walked over to stand by Bucky. The man buried his head in Steve's chest. “I made you unhappy, didn't I?” the taller man murmured.

“Yeah, you did,” Steve answered. No point in lying about that. Bucky needed to be held accountable for his actions if he was ever going to get better. Besides, there was no point in feeding into his delusions anymore. 

“I didn't mean to. I wanted you to be happy with me,” Bucky whispered. Steve felt his shirt become wet. Bucky paused for a moment. “...I love you.” He said the words quietly, but Steve could hear the desperation behind them. 

Steve wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't going to say the words back, he _couldn't_ , but he had to give Bucky something. Out right rejection would break the man. Steve didn't know if Bucky really felt that strongly for him, and maybe he thought he did. Steve knew he was going to remember this moment forever. How could he ever forget when this strong man cried into his chest and confessed such a strong feeling? Especially someone like Bucky, who probably hadn't loved anyone since his family.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him tightly. “I know, Buck,” he soothed. What else was there to say? “I know.”

Bucky sobbed and repeated those damned words. “I love you,” he professed. He lifted his head to look at Steve's face. There were tear streaks running down his face. “You can't leave me, Steve. You can't! I love you!”

Steve wanted to walk away from this sad scene and leave this room forever, never looking back. But that seemed too cruel. “It's gonna be alright, Bucky. You'll be just fine.”

He wanted to disappear right now, but Bucky needed him. He hated this, but he was the only one who could get Bucky to open up. He would come back to Bucky as long as he had to. 

 

“You guys are amazing,” Tony started. “I mean really, how long has this man been in custody without a lawyer? Doesn't everyone get one within a few hours of being arrested? I can't you believe you managed to pull this off.”

Natasha could already feel a headache forming. They were finally getting somewhere with Barnes, and then Tony fucking Stark has to go and show up. “Barnes has committed many crimes. We've been doing everything we can to get him to tell us everything.”

“And that includes denying him his basic right?” Tony demanded. “This place has been going downhill for awhile, but damn!”

“Why are you even here, Stark?” Sam demanded. “You don't work for the state. There's no way you were appointed.”

“Oh, I'm doing this for free,” Tony announced. “I'm doubting this guy can pay me, not that I really need the money.”

“Then why?” Natasha demanded. She had never heard of Stark doing cases for free.

“The publicity, of course,” Tony answered. “The Winter Slasher on trial! This will be the biggest case of the year. Everyone is going to know James Barnes' name. And that means they're also going to know the name of his lawyer.”

Sam had to laugh. It was actually kind of admirable how Stark always knew how to think ahead and stay ahead. “Man, I don't know how Pepper stands you.” His tone was light hearted so Stark wouldn't take offense.

Tony chuckled at the thought of his girlfriend. “Neither do I. So I trust there will be no more talking to my client without my presence?”

“Of course,” Natasha promised, her tone dry. “Do you really think you can get him off?”

“I can certainly try,” Tony answered. “I doubt he'll be acquitted for anything, but the longer the trial goes on, the more drama for the news stations.”

“Sounds fun,” Natasha commented. Oh, she was definitely going to have to get some more aspirin.


	22. Chapter 22

The arrest of the Winter Slasher was the news event of the summer. Reports said there hadn't been so much anticipation to a trial since Ted Bundy. Nearly all of James Barnes' victims had friends and families who missed them. For every dead person, there were at least twenty people online and in the streets demanding Barnes to be convicted. He had kept the country, especially the northeast, terrified for nearly two years. Psychiatrists popped up left and right to try and explain his behavior, even though none of them actually spoke to the man. He was the target of gossip and news debates. Large groups of people were vocal about his certain guilt, while others cried that he was misunderstood, or the death reports were exaggerated. 

His lawyer, Tony Stark, was always the object of the evening news, giving interviews and painting his client in a condoling light. Many people were sympathetic when they heard the tales of an abused orphan suffering from PTSD and looking for an outlet for all the pain. Even more claimed that was no excuse. Either way, they all knew it was going to be a lengthy trial. 

It took a month and a half for the prosecution and the defense to prepare. There was so much evidence and so many legal arguments to make. Speeches had to be planned that would harden and soften the jury's hearts. 

Steve kept up with it all. He practically glued himself to the television and he watched all that he could. He wanted to know everything they knew about Bucky and what was going to happen to him. Steve felt oddly possessive to the information. He knew Bucky better than any of these doctors or news anchors, didn't he? He didn't want Bucky's business out there for the world to see and debate over. It should be kept between him, Steve, and the legal team. But this country loved a good spectacle, and there was nothing Steve could do.

He was still living with Sam. Steve felt guilty that he had been in the man's home for so long and did nothing but freeload. Sam didn't seem to mind, though. And if he ever got tired of having Steve round, he didn't mention it. Sometimes Steve wasn't sure if Sam genuinely liked him or if his host just had a big, bleeding heart. Maybe Steve constantly brought out his psychiatrist training. The blond supposed he was like a constant patient. It was simple, really. He had been through a traumatic experience, and Sam helped people like him. 

There were several occasions when Steve offered to get a job to help out. Sam always said the same thing: “Don't worry about that for now, Steve. Believe me, I make enough to support us both. Besides, you're way too distracted by Barnes' trial right now. I don't think you could focus on a job. It's okay to just relax for awhile, alright?”

Steve went along with it. He knew that Sam had a point. But he still hesitated in asking for certain foods or money for new clothes. He didn't have much in the way of savings, and the cold had come early this year. Steve's thin frame always needed thick layers to keep warm. He was grateful when Sam took him out to buy some sweaters and a new coat. He couldn't help but wonder if Bucky would have done the same, or would he have just given Steve some of his hand-me-downs?

It was oddly fitting that Bucky's trial would take place in October. The notorious Winter Slasher's face would be everywhere during Halloween month. It wouldn't surprise Steve if some idiots dressed up like Bucky this year.

It still felt strange to be away from his former captor. He had been out of Bucky's clutches for six weeks now, but Steve could swear that he could hear Bucky's voice and feel a strong hand around his wrist at least once a day. He often wondered if he would ever get Bucky Barnes out of his head. Steve knew that he would never forget what happened between them and the five long months he feared for his life, but for right now he just wanted to go a few days without thinking about it. Was that so much to ask? For a few days reprieve from the memories and the feelings and the nightmares? (He hadn't told Sam about those, but he had a feeling the other man knew.) Steve was relieved that his name had been kept out of the news for the most part. He doubted that anyone would recognize him on the streets, but he didn't want to take the risk. If people were going to finally notice him, he hoped that it wouldn't be because he was the Winter Slasher's hostage.

He knew that notoriety was inevitable. No one had subpoenaed him as a witness yet but it was only a matter of time. The police knew that Bucky had told Steve things that he'd told no other. They would certainly want to use his knowledge against or in favor of Bucky. The trial was going to be televised and Steve's face would be out there for the world to see. There were definitely going to be those freaks who would try and track him down and ask him about Bucky, invading his life and business like they were entitled to it. Fuck, he was going to have to hide out in France after all of this was over.

He turned away from Stark's latest morning spectacle on CNN and checked the time on the cheap phone Sam had gotten him. He sighed. It was almost time to visit Bucky. Steve had been unable to resist seeing the man once a week. He told the detectives that it was to help convince Bucky to cooperate during his trial, but they all knew that wasn't true, at least not entirely. Steve simply had a need to see his former captor. He just had to see Bucky to make sure the man was alright. Well, alright as he could be. He wished he didn't, wished he could forget about Bucky and leave him to rot. But he couldn't ignore his conscience and kept going to the jail every Wednesday.

The visits made him feel slightly better. Sam said it was part of getting “closure”. Steve wasn't sure of that. All he knew was that it was a relief to see Bucky alive and locked up. As long as Bucky was there, he couldn't hurt anyone or take Steve away again. There, Steve could sit for an hour and look into Bucky's sad eyes and try to cheer him. Bucky was a monster, but Steve thought he still deserved some compassion.

He still had a few hours before Sam came by to pick him up. Until then, Steve was going to relax and enjoy the freedom he felt without Bucky's presence.

 

The jail was cold and the lights were dim, as always. Such a depressing place for people to be stuck in while they awaited trial or served time for a petty crime. Steve could barely stand being here for visiting hours. He wondered what effect this place was having on Bucky, who was going to be spending the rest of his life in an environment like this.

Sam walked with him into the visiting room. “You need me to stay?” he asked, as always.

“Thanks, Sam, but I can do this on my own,” Steve replied. He walked over to his usual table and sat down. “He can't hurt me here. I can handle it.”

Sam nodded. “Alright. I'll be back in an hour. You can always call if you need me.”

Steve smiled. “You sure you can leave work like that?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “I don't know. If we're not doing other work, we're having to focus on your boy's trial. We're all going to be witnesses.”

Steve watched as Sam left the room. He suddenly felt very alone. What if Bucky went berserk or managed to free himself? Would the guards get there in time to protect him?

A group of prisoners were let into the room. Steve knew to look for Bucky in the rear. As usual, the man was handcuffed and accompanied by two guards. Steve had been here enough for them to recognize him and lead Bucky over to his table. Bucky perked up when he saw the blond. Steve offered up a small smile. He didn't come here to be hostile.

He had become used to seeing Bucky in his orange jumpsuit. It made Steve feel both pity and righteous. He hated that Bucky was stuck in here, but the man had done more than enough to deserve this. The guards placed Bucky in the seat across from him and backed off a few feet to give a sense of privacy. They weren't allowed to touch. This bothered Bucky and Steve didn't know what he felt. Part of him was glad to have some distance from the taller man and another part wanted to give him a comforting touch. 

“How are you doing, Buck?” he asked quietly.

Bucky shrugged. “Same as always.” That was his regular response. “Stark keeps coming to see me. I wish he wouldn't. His voice gives me a headache.”

Steve had to laugh at that. “I see him practically every day on the news. He's very enthusiastic about defending you.”

Bucky snorted and looked to the side. “I don't know why he's bothering. We all know I'm fucked.”

Steve frowned. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't flat out agree. “Bucky- ”

“Don't act like you don't know, Steve.” Bucky didn't sound angry, just sad and tired. “He keeps telling me that I should act like I'm sorry. But I'm not. I don't care about any of those people. Not then, not now. I just keep thinking about you.”

Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “You need to focus on yourself right now, Buck.”

Bucky snorted. “Don't really want to.” His eyes roamed over Steve's body. “I wish I could touch you. I always liked the way you feel in my arms.”

“You know we can't, Bucky.”

The taller man glowered and leaned back in his chair. Steve could see his wrists pulling at the cuffs that held them together. 

He needed to change the subject away him before Bucky started to act up. They already had one visit cut short that way. “How do they treat you in here?”

Bucky laughed softly. “Everyone stays away from me. Some people tried to talk to me or mess with me when I first got here. I made sure they didn't again.”

Steve could imagine how those interactions went. “And the guards?”

“They act like they're tough shit, but I know they're afraid of me,” Bucky replied. He actually looked amused. “There's always at least two of them watching me. Sometimes they look away when I make eye contact.”

It made Steve nervous to hear this. Was the entire jail afraid of Bucky? He must be only showing his dangerous side. No room for weakness in jail. But what sort of influence could Bucky have in here? Even Steve knew that being on top of the food chain in a place like this was very beneficial.

“Hey, you're still living with that cop, aren't you, Stevie? Why don't you tell me more about him?”

“Yeah, I am,” Steve answered. “Sam's really nice to me.”

Bucky eyed the dark blue fabric of Steve's new wool shirt coolly. “Is he? He look after you good?”

“I guess.” Bucky's tone was bothering him. Was the man honestly jealous of Sam? Well, the sergeant did have Steve in his house and as a companion. That was Bucky's position not too long ago. 

“Better than me?” Bucky spat, confirming Steve's thoughts.

“Well, he doesn't hold me against my will or constantly drag me from place to place, so I think he does!” Steve spat back. He changed his tone to match Bucky's. His former captor didn't have a right to act hostile toward Sam, or pretend that he had ever done Steve any favors. “Then again, anyone could treat me better than you did.”

Instead of flaring up like Steve thought he would, Bucky seemed to deflate. He looked at the blond sadly. “I did my best, Steve.”

“You kept me caged like an animal!”

“I couldn't let you leave me, Steve!” Bucky insisted. “You're all I have. I lo-”

“Please, don't. Just don't,” Steve pleaded. He couldn't hear those words again. He didn't want to be here anymore.

“I'll make it up to you, Steve. I promise.”

“How are you going to do anything when you're stuck in prison for the rest of your life?”

Bucky smiled.

 

Stark approached him a week before Bucky's trial date. He and Sam wearily let him into the apartment. He couldn't be here to give any good news.

“I have to meet my girlfriend for lunch, so I'll make this quick,” Stark announced after they sat down at the kitchen table. He looked to Steve. “I want you to be a witness for the defense.” He raised his hand for peace when he saw the smaller man's outraged expression. “Okay, hold on. I know it sounds bad when I say it like that, you being Barnes' kidnap victim and all. I just think that, maybe, you can offer a few good things to say about him.”

“And why would I do that?” Steve demanded. 

Stark shrugged. “I don't know. You don't have a reason too, but I figured I'd ask anyway. You know he's looking at several life sentences, right? There's no way he's going free. I'm just trying to get him some sympathy and maybe some leeway.”

“And what could I possibly say that would help with that?” Steve asked, honestly bewildered. “Wouldn't my testimony just put another nail in his coffin?”

“Well, he did keep you alive and _mostly_ well for five months,” Stark pointed out. “You can demonstrate that he does has a soft side. That he isn't a mindless beast willing and wanting to kill everyone in his path.”

Steve could disagree with that.

Stark handed him a paper business card. “Look, I know you've been through a lot so I'm not going to make you do anything. It's up to you if you want to come to court or not.”

“I'll think about it,” Steve promised as he looked the card over.

“I hope to hear from you then.” Stark rose and Sam showed him to the door.

 

Three days later, Steve called Stark's office and told him the answer was no.

 

It hurt to watch Bucky's trial. 

Steve didn't go to see it in person, of course. He stayed put on the couch and solemnly viewed it on the television. Sam sat with him on the days he wasn't on the witness stand himself. As one of the officers who arrested Bucky, he had to go and give the details.

Stark wouldn't allow Bucky to take the stand himself. And it seemed like Bucky didn't want to. Every time the camera panned over his face, he looked so cold and impassive. Steve's heart sank for him. Bucky was digging his own grave. Stark had his work cut out for him.

Bucky had many victims and many crimes to atone for. This was not going to be a fast trial at all. Every day they brought up a new name and new evidence against Bucky. Steve winced whenever he recognized a name from the newspaper clippings. It made all those deaths even more real.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked every evening, after the court had adjourned for the day.

“Yeah,” Steve would answer. “I will be.”

 

His name finally came up in the second week of the trial. They were finally getting to the kidnapping charges. He turned off the TV and hid in his bedroom for the rest of the day.

 

“The jury's going to start deliberating tomorrow,” Sam informed him. He had cooked them steaks for dinner.

Steve finished chewing his forkful of beef. “Good.”

 

The courtroom was silent as the attorneys made their closing arguments. The prosecutor made his speech about how it was only right to find Bucky guilty and how he was a danger to society and so on. Steve couldn't disagree.

Stark stood from his table and walked to the jurors' box. “As we all know, there is an overwhelming amount of evidence against my client, James Barnes. It's too much to deny. But when you are all in that little room making your decision, I ask you not to focus on that. At least not entirely. Yes, I know that you cannot ignore what my client has done, but I ask that you consider what has caused him to do these things. He suffered traumatic loss at a young age and ended up in the hands of a tyrant. He didn't grow up knowing right from wrong like the rest of us. He adapted to survive the only way he could. He lived most of his life in a world that was against him and survived the only way he knew how. Can you really fault him for that?”

 

Steve held his breath when the jury came back with their decision four hours later. Bucky looked as indifferent as ever when he was ordered to rise.

“We the jury find the defendant guilty on all charges, including forty-three counts of murder, two counts of murdering officers of the law, fifteen counts of auto theft, one count of kidnapping, and two counts of arson.”

There were cries of relief from the families of the victims and cries of excitement from the media. Stark nodded his head and leaned over to whisper something to an unaffected Bucky. The judge had to bang his gavel to get the room to calm down.

“James Barnes, giving the severity of multitude of your crimes, I have no choice but to sentence you to thirty consecutive life terms in prison without the possibility of parole...”

Steve had stopped listening. He was only able to stare down at his hands. How did he feel? Was he happy? Sad? Relieved? All of those?

Sam gently shook him. “Hey, you okay, man?”

Steve shrugged. “I don't know right now.”

 

Months passed with no word from Bucky. Steve never went to visit him. He was taking Sam's advice and leaving his past behind him. That life-long prison sentence was the closure he needed from Bucky. The man was never going to come bother him again. He finally felt free.

It took time. Getting his life back together wasn't as easy as Steve had hoped. He spent a lot of time talking to Sam. They talked about his frustrations and his fears and his anger. They talked about his past and his goals for the future. They talked about sports and girls and their favorite movies. Sam was a counselor, but he was also a friend. The combination was just what Steve needed. Sam knew when he needed professional advice and when he just needed to relax. He was always up for doing either. In a weird way, Steve was glad for his ordeal, if only because he met Sam Wilson. He never imagined having such a great friend.

“I really need to find a new job,” he stated one cold day December. It was nearing Christmas time, and he was bitter that he didn't have enough money to buy Sam a gift. He was still living in the man's apartment. He could at least get him something to show his gratitude. He also wanted to get Natasha something. The redhead often came over to visit. Steve figured she was lonely after losing her boyfriend, Barton. Steve still felt weird about that. She had had a life with that brave man, and Steve had been the last person to see him alive. She never brought it up. And Steve liked her. She was sarcastic and understanding and wasn't afraid to poke fun at him. 

Sam put down his mug of peppermint hot chocolate. “Now that you mention it,” the man drawled slowly, “we've been kinda busy around the station lately. Barnes' case put us behind on a mountain of paper work. We could really use someone to come in and help file things and make coffee and take phone calls.”

Steve couldn't suppress his grin. “Are you offering me a job at the station?”

Sam gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don't know. It's not like me, Nat, and the chief already talked about this and have a free space for you or anything. But if you're interested -”

“When do I start?” Steve asked happily.

“After Christmas,” Sam answered. “I hope you're ready to work. Long hours, difficult people, terrible coffee...”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

Steve received a letter from Bucky a few days after Christmas. He was hesitant to open it. He stared at the envelope like it was going to bite him. How had Bucky gotten this address? He waited until Sam was gone before going into the bathroom to open it.

 _Miss you_ , it read. _See you soon._

He shivered. He tore the yellow paper into shreds and flushed them down the toilet.

 

The rest of winter passed peacefully. Steve enjoyed his job at the station. He was kept busy and was around his friends constantly. Nat and Sam were usually busy, and yet they somehow always found time to talk to him and look out for him. Steve managed to find a cheap brand of coffee that Sam liked.

It was nice to walk the streets of Brooklyn again. He was so glad that he hadn't gone to testify at Bucky's trial. Surely someone on the streets would have recognized and stopped him by now. He was never so grateful to be unnoticed.

He didn't have any big plans at the moment. He was only twenty six. Steve was perfectly content with how his life was right now. He had a home, an awesome roommate, and friends who cared about him. He wanted to take things one day at a time. He didn't know what the future held, and he by no means wanted to think about the past. He could go anywhere he wanted and buy overpriced coffee and get tickets to a Yankees game. For once in his life, everything was fine.

 

It was the middle of April when word broke out that James Barnes had escaped from prison. 

 

He and Sam were relocated across the city. Sam didn't want to panic at first, but then Steve fessed up about the letter Bucky sent him. If the man knew where Steve was, he would surely come after him.

Steve felt horrible about forcing Sam to leave his cozy apartment. Sam took it in stride. “It's not your fault, Steve. No one knows how he found where we live. But we're gonna keep you safe.”

Sam refused to take a leave of absence from work. Too much work to do, he reasoned. Other people would always come before himself. 

Steve hardly ever left their new place. He mainly stayed in his bedroom and cowered. How couldn't he? Bucky coming back for him was his worst fear. 

But weeks passed with no sign of the man. Steve began to regain confidence. Maybe Bucky wasn't looking for him. Maybe he got lucky and Bucky had fled the country or decided the blond wasn't worth the trouble. Sure he wrote that letter, but there was always the chance that he changed his mind. Right?

 

He came back to the apartment with a bag full of take-out. It was a warm evening in early June. Steve was enjoying the weather and volunteered to go pick up dinner instead of having it delivered. He had gotten back just as the sun was setting. 

The lights were off inside. That was odd. Did Sam go somewhere? Did he get called into work?

A sense of dread came over him. He noticed there was small glow coming from the kitchen. He slowly walked toward the room and flipped the light switch on. The sight made him scream. There was Sam, lying on the floor. He was sprawled out on his side and surrounded by a pool of his own blood. His mouth was still open in a final scream.

Steve dropped the bag and slowly looked toward the dark figure standing a little away. Bucky stepped forward, still holding a bloody knife. He smiled amiably at Steve.

“Hi there, Steve. Did you miss me?”

He screamed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, nine months later and it's finally done
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope that ending was satisfactory. I figured it was either this, Bucky staying in prison, or Bucky ending up dead. I'm sorry if you don't like open endings. I guess you can imagine how you want the story to go from here. (No there won't be a sequel, sorry.) If you have any lingering questions, I'll be glad to answer them.


End file.
